


lament of the nightingale

by eurycleia (oddysseeus)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (you'll see why...), Akaashi Keiji-centric, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Anger Management, Established Relationship, Happy ending trust me, Inspired by a Greek Myth, M/M, Magic-Users, Unconditional Love, Witch Curses, Worldbuilding, akaashi embarks on a quest to find him, akaashi hates gay people (kuroken), akaashi is going thru it, bokuto goes missing, eye-related puns, sakusa is a sexy swordsman, they are engaged yall, tw blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 43,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25209814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddysseeus/pseuds/eurycleia
Summary: “Why did you help me?” Akaashi cut him off.Sakusa didn’t answer, the two turning a few corners in silence. Then, “Maybe you’re worth helping. Just that. Maybe that’s why strangers flock to you even when they don’t know you. Ever thought about that?”One day, Bokuto vanishes.But theres more to it than meets the eye.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 18
Kudos: 48
Collections: Bokuaka Week 2020





	lament of the nightingale

**Author's Note:**

> might be slightly ooc but its my au and i do what i want!
> 
> if you dont understand the lore thats okay. akaashi doesnt either. just smile and nod. getting the gist is enough
> 
> title from a greek myth i wont divulge yet. if you know the one, you might know what to expect of this story's structure. if you dont, enjoy the ride :)

Akaashi woke up alone.

It wasn’t an unusual occurrence; Bokuto often liked waking up with the sun, starting his day earlier than his partner, earlier than everyone. He’d go on a morning run, or watch a cartoon in the living room while he waited for Akaashi to wake up. Sometimes he would lounge in bed and trace Akaashi’s features under his fingertips, grazing his skin lightly in hopes he would stay asleep. Except he was never as gentle as he thought he was, and Akaashi would often be awoken by the touch. Other days, Bokuto used his extra time to cook them a grand breakfast, which were terrible the first few times he tried, but over the years, he had gotten much, much better.

It wasn’t unusual, but something felt off. Akaashi squinted as he woke up, blinded by the rising sun. There wasn’t a sound in the apartment, and the air didn’t smell anything — he must have gone out running, Akaashi thought.

He rolled over and sat down on the bed, searching for the owl slippers Bokuto had bought him for their first anniversary. He frowned as he looked around, but they were nowhere to be seen. He was sure he had left them here before going to bed, though.

He shrugged it off, getting up and heading towards the kitchen, but before he could leave the room, his eyes trailed off to their shared closet. It was remarkably empty, unlike what Akaashi remembered, and he frowned once more. Then, it hit him: the only clothes that remained were his own. Bokuto’s were gone.

Thousands of terrible thoughts rushed to mind, but he shut them down before they could do any damage, trying to assess the situation logically first. Bokuto wasn’t home. Neither were his clothes. He could have gone out to give some to charity? No, it was still too early for stores to be opened. Or he might have moved them to another room, to do some spring cleaning. Yes, Akaashi should look around a bit more before setting off into panic.

But there were very few rooms to examine in their shared apartment, and it didn’t take long to tour each of them. And instead of getting answers from the search, he was given far more questions than he had bargained for.

Bokuto’s toothbrush, gone. His shampoo, razor, hair gel, all his personal things had disappeared from the bathroom. In the kitchen, it was the little notes on the fridge. In the living room, half the books from their bookshelf. All gone.

Bokuto couldn’t have moved this all by himself, Akaashi reasoned. He couldn’t have gotten rid of all his stuff overnight either, not when the man was clumsy and loud, not when Akaashi the light sleeper was in the next room over.

He didn’t have time to figure out where all his stuff went; he had to find out where Bokuto was, first and foremost. The rest would fall into place. Find Bokuto, find the answers. He couldn’t have gone far. Right? He wouldn’t have left him like that. Together until the end of time. Right?

He returned to their bedroom, grabbing his phone from the bedside. He scrolled through his contact list, but when he couldn’t find Bokuto’s quickly enough, he groaned and typed in the number instead. He hadn’t meant to remember it per se, but he was glad it was coming in handy. Bringing the device up to his ears, he could feel the nerves bubbling up inside his stomach, the kind deep breaths wouldn’t calm down. Only Bokuto’s voice could help, now.

“ _Sorry, the number you have reached is not in service_ ,” an automated voice answered, and Akaashi’s heart sank. What the hell?

He could feel himself lose it, and he knew if he didn’t get his answer soon enough, he would burst. He closed his eyes and sat on their bed, hiding his face in the palms of his hands, and took a few minutes to collect his breathing. Bokuto was fine. There must have been a rational explanation to all this. He opened his eyes back again, and that was when he noticed the missing frame.

Bokuto and himself had been to Disneyland on their second year anniversary, taking plenty of gross couple pictures throughout the trip. A selfie in particular, taken in front of Cinderella’s castle, had Akaashi looking stumped as Bokuto cupped and kissed his cheek in surprise. He had always hated the picture and his stupid expression, but Bokuto adored it, and so they had kept it in a frame by his bedside ever since.

It was gone, too.

All his previous efforts at calming himself down were shattered. Akaashi scrolled down his contact list, opting to call one of their friends and ask them if they had heard anything from Bokuto. He didn’t leave. He couldn’t have. There was an explanation. There had to be.

“ _What? It’s fuckin’... eight in the morning, Akaashi._ ”

“I’m sorry, Tsukishima. Have you heard of Bokuto, recently? I don’t know where he is. Did he contact you this morning?”

“ _Wait, who?_ ” Tsukishima replied, twisting up Akaashi’s insides. He must have just woken up. Everything must have been foggy still.

“You know, the man I’m marrying. That Bokuto.”

“ _Whoa, slow down, you’re getting married? Without having introduced him to anyone? What the hell, Akaashi?_ ”

Akaashi tensed up. “Bokuto is one of your best friends, Tsukishima,” he spelled out for him, his hand gripped at the edge of the bed, his knuckles turning white. “You threw a ball in his face. You volunteered to be my best man.”

Tsukishima sighed, making his heart skip a beat. “ _Look, man, go back to sleep. I think you’re confused._ ”

This wasn’t funny. He got up, pacing around the room. “Are you guys pranking me? Tell me where he is.” This wasn’t fucking funny. This was a sick joke and if Tsukishima didn’t come clean right then and there, Akaashi was going to lose it.

“ _I don’t know any Bokutos, sorry. I’m hanging up now._ ”

He didn’t get the chance to get one more word in before the call cut off, leaving Akaashi hanging. What the hell. What the actual hell. Why did Tsukishima have to be so rude about it? Was he hiding something from him? Was he hiding Bokuto away? Tsukishima wasn’t the type to lie, though. Or the type to participate in some pranking. Hinata would have fit the bill, but Akaashi remembered he was taking a year abroad. It would be pointless to call him.

Maybe… maybe his mom knew something. Mrs. Akaashi and Bokuto were close, he could have gone to her for advice, right? Akaashi was starting to lose grip on his reasoning and logic, and calling his mother seemed to be the next best thing. He just needed some semblance of information. Anything.

“ _What’s wrong, Keiji?_ ” she said, the sound of her voice already comforting him. Maybe things would be alright.

Akaashi took a deep breath. “I got in an argument with Bokuto,” he lied, although he wasn’t sure if it were completely untrue. Had they gotten into a fight, recently? Not that he remembered. A disagreement, then? But they usually talked them out as soon as they happened.

“ _Bokuto…_ ” she trailed off, putting the world on pause. “ _Is that a friend of yours?_ ”

His mother loved Bokuto. They had clicked instantly, bonding over stories of Akaashi’s childhood and nitpicking at his little habits together. Bokuto would sometimes go to her place by himself to get some pointers about cooking, and Akaashi’s mom would often call her son to tell him how happy she was that he had found such a wonderful man to spend the rest of his life with.

As much as she was terrible with names, there was no way she would forget Bokuto’s.

“Y– yeah,” he let out, his throat tightening as he blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the itch in his eyes. “Some stupid thing. I– I don’t know why I called. Forget it.”

“ _Keiji, you sound upset_ –”

“I’ll call you some other time, mom. Love you.”

It was his turn now to hang up before he could hear her reply. Had he heard another word, he would have burst into tears. He just might anyway.

What was going on? Why did no one seem to remember him? They could be pranking him, he hoped for it to be a stupid joke, but to involve his mother… that would be a little too elaborate. For fuck’s sake, why would he cancel his phone service for a prank? How would he have managed to remove every single piece of himself from the house they shared, overnight? It made no sense. As much as he wanted it to make sense, the puzzle didn’t fit.

His hands were trembling as he searched through his contact list again. He had been too worried to look properly the first time, but now, he could see Bokuto’s contact information was gone. Address, birthday, email, erased. Then, his fingers acting on his own, he opened his camera roll, only to find it half emptied out. All deleted, all gone. Not one picture of Bokuto remained.

Like he had vanished from this world. Like he had never existed in the first place.

He had tried to keep himself under control all this time, but his efforts were pointless now. He was hyperventilating, his thoughts all over the place, terrible scenarios followed by tons of impossible questions, and his anger couldn’t be kept it in anymore. He threw his phone to the wall as his knees gave out, hitting the floor before he could stop himself. This was a nightmare.

Bokuto was gone.

※

The next few days went in a haze. After the initial anger wore off, all he was left with was emptiness. It wasn’t sadness, as much as he wanted it to be; there were too many points that made no sense, and he still refused to believe he had been left behind. He knew it was delusional to think this way when all signs pointed otherwise, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Something was wrong. Bokuto wouldn’t have left him like that.

If he gave in to the other kind of thoughts, the ones that whispered Bokuto had finally gotten bored of him like Akaashi always thought would happen, he would break down.

Even worse was the idea Bokuto had never existed. That he had only ever been a figment of his imagination, and Akaashi had finally woken up. He despised that option the most, but it seemed to grow more and more plausible as days went by.

Tsukishima came by to visit, having sensed something was off with Akaashi during their phone call. He didn’t seem to understand what was the matter, but he didn’t press, making them both dinner as Akaashi laid on the couch and stared into nothingness, not a single word exchanged. Akaashi tried bringing up his relationship status as they ate, but Tsukishima only congratulated him after he pretended to have gotten into a new relationship. His friend didn’t remember a thing, and it was definitely not a prank anymore.

His mother called too, but she didn’t bring up their conversation either. Only made sure he was eating properly (which he wasn’t) and getting a good amount of sleep (which he wasn’t). Other calls he received that week were a telemarketer whose hidden number had made Akaashi’s heart jump in his chest before realization settled in, and his workplace asking him how many more sicks days he thought he would need. He coughed as he replied, pretending his condition was getting worse.

The only good thing about his week was an email from Hinata, describing how much he was enjoying Brazil, attached with a few pictures of the places he visited. Hinata reminded him of a smaller version of Bokuto, and the message appeased him for a few minutes, after days of feeling so tense.

Six days after the disappearance, Tsukishima came back with his boyfriend in tow. Yamaguchi was a nice guy, more lively than his partner, and Akaashi liked him although they had never really spoken before. Akaashi did feel a bit like he was third wheeling them in his own apartment, but he shouldn’t complain about having company and feeling a bit more like a functioning human being.

“I’ve never been to your place before. Tsukki was right, it is really nice,” he told Akaashi, leaving Tsukishima to unpack groceries by himself. Akaashi hadn’t asked of them to do that, but Tsukishima must have noticed the poor state of his fridge the last time he came by.

Akaashi couldn’t agree with the statement. The place felt so bleak, now. Missing life. If only he still had the little owl figurines Bokuto liked to place everywhere around the house. He didn’t even have that, anymore. “Thank you,” he settled with.

“Your ring looks pretty, too! Tsukki didn’t tell me you were engaged!”

Akaashi froze up, breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t have been this fucking stupid, now, could he? His eyes traveled downwards as he stretched his right hand in front of him, where on the fourth finger rested a tiny silver band. He removed it so rarely, he had forgotten it still laid there, unbothered, the engagement ring Bokuto had proposed with, the ring he hadn’t even needed to see before kissing Bokuto as he giggled _yes, yes, yes_.

All this time, when he thought he had nothing left of Bokuto, nothing to prove he had ever been in this world at all, he had been holding onto the only answer he needed. Bokuto was real. Bokuto had always been real, and this ring was proof enough of it. He hadn’t imagined it.

Which would mean Bokuto had left him, but he didn’t want to hear it. This was a good thing. The first good news in a while. Why no one seemed to remember him, he’d have to ask himself later. But right now, Bokuto was real.

…unless he had imagined Bokuto buying it for him, and he had actually purchased it himself. Fuck, the second he thought things could be getting better, he just had to receive one more slap in the face. It wasn’t proof of existence. If anything, it was only strengthening the opposite theory; how could everything Bokuto had ever owned disappear, except this ring? Here was how — it wasn’t his.

He closed his hand into a fist, dropping his arm. Had Bokuto ever been real? He couldn’t tell anymore. As real as it had all felt, he couldn’t trust his own self. If everyone around him swore Akaashi had been single all his life… if even his apartment sent him signals he had never had another person in his life… maybe they were right.

“It’s just a ring. It doesn’t mean anything.”

※

The couple left around nine, and Akaashi was exhausted. He had managed his best at keeping a straight face for his friends, but he could tell by their exchanged glances he was doing a terrible job. Yes, he had already been losing his mind before, but Yamaguchi’s comment had sent him into a downward spiral of hellfire.

He didn’t do this often, and was surprised he hadn’t done so earlier with all that had happened, but tonight, he really needed a drink. Of course, Tsukishima hadn’t brought any, so his next best shot was the local pub down the road. He wasn’t up to being around people, but the convenience store only had shitty beer and he was pretty sure the night shift worker would let a robbery happen under his nose if it meant they could keep playing games on their phone.

The pub was small, packed even with few customers. Tonight wasn’t as crowded, which was a relief. He had been here a few times with Bokuto to get drinks, sometimes pretending they were two strangers meeting each other for the first time. One of them would eventually drop the act during the night, and said loser would have to pay for their drinks.

It felt strange to come alone. Then again, there was a chance he had always been alone whenever he came. He groaned at the thought, grabbing a stool and ordering a pint of their strongest beer right away. If his mind kept racing off into tangents like this, he’d have to remedy to it with shots. As many as he would need to make himself black out, if necessary.

No one had tried sparking up a conversation with him yet, although he could see the internal debate of a concerned bartender as Akaashi ordered his fourth pint. Yes, he knew he looked like shit, but it didn’t mean they needed to talk it out. He didn’t need to talk to anyone. Not one thing they could say would interest him, he was willing to bet on it. There was only one person on his mind, someone no one seemed to know but him.

He sighed, bringing the new pint to his lips.

“You’ll never see him again.”

Akaashi almost dropped his drink, catching it before it could spill everywhere. He snapped his head towards the sound; there was a woman sitting next to him. How long had she been here? She hadn’t made a single sound up until now, and was looking at him with wide eyes. She was very pretty even under the dimmed lights, with her pale long hair and thick eyelashes. For a second, Akaashi thought her green eyes were glowing, but it must have been a trick of the light.

But her appearance didn’t matter to Akaashi in the slightest. It was her words that entranced him, like a mermaid pulling him to shore with promises of what he longed for the most.

She had to mean Bokuto. She had to be talking about him. She knew him, and if he were lucky enough, she knew where he was.

And it was proof enough Bokuto existed.

“What?” He let out, his thoughts a little jumbled from the alcohol. This better not have been a misunderstanding. If this wasn’t about Bokuto…

“But I can help you find him,” she said, putting her hand over Akaashi’s. She had slender fingers, pointed nails, and her ice cold touch was enough to sober him up instantly.

She took his hand, leading him away from the bar and into the crowd. He had no clue where they were going or what he was going to find there, and he should have felt more weirded out by this strange new character, but he wasn’t in a position to question her. She seemed willing to share, and all the information Akaashi needed would come in due time.

He hadn’t felt this calm in a long time. Had he not been enamoured by the idea of finding Bokuto again, he might have better noticed the obvious trap he was being led into.

Soon enough they were standing in front of a door Akaashi had never noticed before, close by the bathrooms. With the number of times him and Bokuto had gone into these stalls to make out, he was fairly certain he would have acknowledged this door or even tried to force it open out of curiosity. He frowned, but his concern was dismissed as she opened it to reveal the room inside.

There were hundreds of books lined up in bookshelves that covered all walls, some more in piles threatening to topple over any moment. A wide range of plants were suspended across the room, some of them exotic types Akaashi knew couldn’t be found in Japan. One of the shelves was filled with bottles of all sizes containing different trinkets, herbs, feathers — but some contained things more worrisome, like the jar of eyes or the glowing neon substances. The entire room was lit up by candles melting all over the room, and was cluttered from top to bottom, but it had a certain charm to it, one Akaashi would have loved to bask in.

But there were more pressing matters at hand, and any new second wasted was a step farther from Bokuto. The woman closed the door and took a seat behind the desk Akaashi had mistaken for a pile of books, inviting him to sit as well. The wooden chair on his side looked ancient, like it would be crushed under his weight in an instant, but he sat down without a hitch, thankful to have been proven wrong.

“You chose your partner well, Akaashi Keiji,” she started, putting her elbows on the desk and resting her head over her joined hands. “Bokuto Koutarou is a strong man.”

To hear his name from another human being felt so immensely right. “Where is he?” he inquired, hope slowly returning back to him. He missed him so bad, worried day and night. Finally, he would rest his itching mind.

“You’re going to need a lot of context to understand where and why he has left. Are you sure you’re ready to hear the truth?” She said, her thick eyelashes fluttering.

“Yes,” he replied, immediate. He was ready for the worst, as long as it meant he was alive.

She looked around the room, taking her time, as if teasing Akaashi. “Bokuto is a wizard.”

When Akaashi didn’t reply, she frowned. “You’re okay with that?”

“Just tell me the whole thing. I’ll deal with the facts later,” he said. She could have told him Bokuto was a fucking unicorn, for all he cared. Ultimately, all he wanted a location. If she had to take him through the entire history of time to get there, he wouldn’t interrupt.

“Alright, then. Bokuto is one of the most powerful spellcasters in Japan; a true natural since birth. Such raw power has attracted the attention of many throughout his life, some more ill-intended than others. Bokuto crossed over to the human realm to escape from one of these individuals, an equally — if not more — powerful warlock. But their unfinished business left a toll in the warlock’s reputation, who only grew angrier with each passing year. After searching for Bokuto in vain, he recently decided to attack Bokuto’s village to draw him out of hiding. And with Bokuto’s friends and family living there, it left him no choice but to leave this world, go back home, and fight.”

This story was insane, and he would need to waste his entire night to unpack all of it, but Akaashi remained confused about something else. “So, what, he used a spell to erase himself from everyone’s memories because of it? He could have told me he was going on a business trip or something.”

She hummed, pensive. “Maybe he believed it was a trip he wouldn’t come back from. You’ll have to ask him yourself.”

A trip Bokuto wouldn’t come back from. And he hadn’t even said a proper goodbye. “Why not erase my memories?” Akaashi asked. If he really believed the attack to be a deathly trap, shouldn’t he have made Akaashi forget as well, rather than leave him with pain he would never be able to make sense of?

“I can only answer with what I know, young man,” she smiled. “This, I cannot help you with. Although I can help you cross over.”

Akaashi pushed away his queries and nodded, ready to listen again. “First of all, humans like you cannot cross to the magical realm. You need magic to do so, in any shape or form, and there are many different types. Your lover’s Spellcasting is one of them, but the one I possess is called Bargaining. I can exchange powers and abilities from one person to another, or give abilities to a single individual in exchange for a price. I could grant you the magic you need to cross over, but I would need to take something in return.”

This was where it would get tricky, wasn’t it? He could find Bokuto this way, join him in a magical world he would have everything to learn about, and gain powers as well. He’d finally get to meet Bokuto’s family — now Akaashi understood what he had meant by his old ‘ _we don’t really talk anymore_ ’ explanation.

A deal like this seemed too good to be true, but of course there had to be a catch. At least the woman was somewhat upfront about what it entailed: Akaashi would have to give her something of his. What could she possibly request from a human like him, though? Maybe his ring? He didn’t own anything worthy.

“What would you take?” He decided to ask, instead of coming up with his own interpretations. If he got screwed over, he could pretend it was only half his fault.

“I can tell you what I will give, but the opposite is my own to know,” she explained, the glow in her eyes Akaashi had imagined earlier coming back full force. Shivers ran down his spine. “You need to want this magic more than anything you own for the process to work. If that’s not a risk you’re willing to take, it would be pointless for us to keep talking.”

“No, I want this,” Akaashi agreed without a second thought, a pinch of regret settling in right after the words left his mouth. He didn’t like the idea of jumping blindly into such a deal, but he didn’t have any other option. If this was going to bring Bokuto back, he had to take that leap of faith.

“I knew you were a smart boy, Akaashi Keiji,” she grinned as the glow in her eyes faded again. Akaashi didn’t want to imagine what could have become of him, had he refused. Now that his initial shock had worn off, he was beginning to think this wasn’t a witch’s lair, but a lion’s den. “I have just the thing for you.”

The woman got up from her seat, grabbing a jar from the shelf behind her. She held it up for Akaashi to see; it contained a transparent liquid with golden flecks in suspension, quite innocuous. “This type of magic is commonly found in fighters. It heightens the user’s senses, reaction time and movements, perfect for dangerous situations. Your quest to find Bokuto may contain more hardships than you realize, and this type of magic is the easiest to use for someone who has never been trained prior. It doesn’t require skill, but acute understanding of the world around one’s self. Doesn’t this sound perfectly suited for you, Akaashi Keiji?”

This woman was convincing, he had to admit. “It sounds fitting, yes.”

She smiled once more. “I’ll just need a little signature to proceed,” she said, using her free hand to slide an inkwell and a piece of parchment over to Akaashi. “I can’t activate my powers without consent. To prevent bargainers to use their powers for evil. It’s quite neat, wouldn’t you agree?”

She handed Akaashi a feather, which he hesitated to grab. This was risky, but he had to remind himself the pros outweighed the cons. Anything for Bokuto, he thought, taking the item with newfound confidence. He dipped the pointed edge in the inkwell, sealing off his fate with his name.

Without wasting one more second, she approached him and held out her palm over his forehead, handing him the jar. “Close your eyes,” she instructed, “and drink up.”

Akaashi looked down at the unknown substance. This could have been regular water, for all he knew. She could have lied all this time. She could have been trying to poison him, and like a lovestruck fool he was letting himself go along with it. At this point, it was too late to go back. _This better work_ , Akaashi thought, closing his eyes as he brought the jar up to his lips.

To his surprise, the liquid was a bit thicker than water, and its taste was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It felt like sparks on his tongue, but not in the spicy type of way. More like electric jolts, small shocks sliding down his throat, then overriding his nervous system until his entire body started twitching from the surges.

His fingers shaking, he dropped the empty jar, hearing it crash in hundred of shards to the ground. His eyes were starting to burn now, but he kept them closed, fearing what would happen if he disobeyed the woman’s instructions. She was pressing down on his forehead harder than ever as Akaashi inhaled through gritted teeth, the pain becoming unbearable.

But just as he thought he was about to pass out, the pain dissipated, releasing the tension in his body. The woman removed her hand from his forehead as he slouched back in his chair, putting his hand over his chest to regulate his breathing. He hadn’t expected anything like his, but at least he had confirmation the woman hadn’t lied. He could already feel change all over his body, the earlier sparks replaced by gentle tingles traveling under his skin.

Then, he opened his eyes.

Everything was pitch black.

He blinked a few times, but he still couldn’t see anything. Like he had been thrown into a sealed room without windows, except he hadn’t; he was still seated in the same chair, and he could tell he remained in the same place. He could feel it in the vibrations of the air on his skin: the size of the room, the placement of objects, the body in front of him. And not only could he hear the woman’s heartbeat, he could also hear with acute precision the flickering of the flames coming from the candles all across the room.

The room hadn’t gone dark. Only his eyes had.

Akaashi stood up and pushed the chair behind him, disoriented and angry, and oh so pissed at this woman. “What the fuck did you do?” He yelled, grabbing her by the collar. Had he not been wanting to throw her across the room, fueled by the violent thoughts overtaking him, he might have wondered how the hell he had even managed to grab her collar without looking at her.

“I told you you would never see him again,” she said, and Akaashi could hear the corners of her lips curl into a smile.

“How am I supposed to find Bokuto if I’m fucking blind?” He shouted, letting go of the woman as he realised what he was doing. Breathe in. Calm down. This was a nightmare. This had been a trap all along, and he had jumped in without taking the time to reflect, thinking about the repercussions or other alternatives. A deal with a witch, really? Fucking Akaashi.

He wasn’t even angry at the woman anymore — thankfully — but at himself. He had been the fool of this whole story. She had done exactly what she said she would, and now Akaashi was lashing out because of his own stupid mistakes. He should have never agreed. He should have run off as soon as she opened her mouth for the first time.

Everything was pitch black, and he kept blinking, praying for his sight to come back. This couldn’t be happening.

“You may not see anymore, but you are not blind, Akaashi Keiji.”

He could tell she was moving around the room, the floorboards creaking under her feet until she stopped behind him, in front of what Akaashi presumed to be the door. Was she throwing him out already? Giving him information he couldn’t make sense of, taking his sight away, then leaving him on the street without a clue what to do next?

“What is that supposed to mean?” He asked, anger morphing into pure confusion. What did he need to do? How was he supposed to use his new abilities? “How will I find him now?”

The woman moved from her spot again, Akaashi feeling her arm stretch towards him. Listening to the vibrations, he could tell she was holding something, and Akaashi raised a tentative hand, grabbing what he felt to be a long, thin object. It was made out of oakwood, a very old tree from a faraway land, his instincts deduced. Wait, he could do that now?

“I cannot answer you, but you have magic, now,” she said. Akaashi heard a clicking sound, a movement of the wrist; she was already opening the door, but he wasn’t ready to leave yet. “The magic in you should attract the beings who have your answers.”

“You’re not making any sense!”

It was now her turn to grab him by the collar before he could react, dragging him out of the room. “Goodbye, Akaashi Keiji. Good luck.”

“Wait, what’s the name of his village?” He shouted in a last desperate attempt, but all he received in return was the slam of the door.

He held out his free hand towards the wall, trying to find the doorknob, but instead met a smooth surface unlike the wooden door he had first crossed. He could feel paint at his fingertips, drywall underneath it. This wasn’t the pub. Where had she left him?

He froze, assessing the situation. He was by himself, as his heartbeat was the only one he could hear. The room was quite big, judging by the vibrations in the air. It seemed to be divided in two parts, one of which seemed to have many appliances lined up by a wall, and a bigger mass in its center.

He turned around, confident he could reach the mass without problem. The floor didn’t creak as much, but Akaashi could hear the slightest weight being pressed down on it. The sensation under his feet helped him map around the place, and if he were correct, this mass was most probably a countertop in the middle of a kitchen. A humming sound started to his left, which he recognized as one of a fridge, and he laid his free hand down the countertop. Granite, polished. A few bumps here and there.

He put down the witch's strange gift on the counter and left the kitchen area, exploring the second half of the room. A very large object was laid out onto the floor, but it didn’t seem to weight much, or take any room space. Most possibly a carpet. He crouched down, letting his hand examine the material, and that was when he finally realized where he was.

In his own apartment.

Akaashi sighed, sitting on the floor. The living room and kitchen area he thought he knew by heart had become completely estranged, to be rediscovered all over again. How was he supposed to do anything, go anywhere, when he couldn’t even recognise his own home?

How was he supposed to recognise Bokuto?

_You’re not blind_ , the woman’s words rang in Akaashi’s ears. He thought she had been delusional when she said that, but after reexperiencing his own house for the second time, he understood a bit better. Maybe he couldn’t see, but he could feel the width of a room with the air on his skin, he could tell its disposition by the sound of his feet on the ground. In the witch’s room, he could hear sounds he had never thought were possible to pick up on. With a simple touch, he could tell what material made an object, and even its history.

He got back on his feet, walking towards the kitchen counter. He picked up the witch’s gift to examine more closely; it was long enough to be a cane, or a staff, which Akaashi did not find funny in the slightest. She had truly played him this easily. He was the stupidest person alive.

It hadn’t settled in, the fact he would never see again. Or that Bokuto was a wizard. The concept of magic in general. He was holding up better than he would have imagined, with the number of illogical facts thrown at him. A part of him must have still believed this was just a strange dream, and that was why he wasn’t processing any of this information. Or maybe the alcohol was to blame.

The staff was plain on one extremity, but the other was ornamented, silver plated. The difference was intriguing, and so Akaashi pulled on the silver end out of curiosity. It dislodged from the cane to reveal a sharp edge, quite small, cold, and thin. A dagger.

The danger of it all hadn’t settled in, either.

※

When the woman had said people would find him, Akaashi hadn’t expected it to be the next day.

He had spent the night tossing and turning around in his bed, unable to find sleep. When he wasn’t helplessly trying to blink his sight back, he couldn’t help but think about how stupid he had been, or how easily he had accepted such an incomprehensible story as truth. He was told his fiancé was a wizard and hadn’t moved an inch at the revelation. Him, Akaashi Keiji, who spiraled everytime things didn’t go as planned, had accepted the fantasy scenario in the blink of an eye. His desperation must have been far worse than he had assessed.

At least he knew Bokuto hadn’t left him. Well, he had, but not in the soul crushing way Akaashi had been so terrified of. Bokuto, noble as ever, had to answer the call of his people, even if it could cause his own end. Which was incredibly stupid and on-brand of him; that was how Akaashi could tell the story wasn’t fake.

He managed to get a few hours in, but was awoken again by a peculiar sound in the apartment. He sat up in his bed, letting one of his feet touch the floor. Someone had sneaked into his apartment, walking around the kitchen on their tiptoes, their heartbeat regular but faint.

Akaashi grabbed the cane he had left by his bedside, keeping a hand around the silver handle. He wasn’t planning on using the dagger, but he couldn’t be too careful. He got up, hiding in the closet. He didn’t have a clue who the intruder could be, but if they were looking for him, he was going to wait until they got here to make himself known. He knew this room a little better than the others, although with his handicap, the advantage was not considerable. And if they were a thief, they could take whatever they wanted. He didn’t watch TV anyway.

The intruder walked to the living room, their steps muffled by the carpet, but they soon got back on Akaashi’s radar as they made their way to the bathroom. This person wasn’t a thief, then; why would anyone break in to steal shampoo? They were standing in front of the bedroom door now, and Akaashi soon heard the distinct click of the doorknob turning.

The intruder walked in, their pace slow, as if staking around the place. Akaashi knew he was hidden in a blind spot, but he couldn’t wait indefinitely. Making the least noise possible, he got out, locating the individual and walking up behind them. They were smaller than he had expected. He could also tell they hadn’t noticed him yet by their heartbeat, still steady. Now or never.

Akaashi looped the cane over the intruder’s head, the wooden staff putting them in a chokehold. Their heartbeat jumped up as they froze into place, and Akaashi could tell by their surprise they had meant no real harm. He relieved their throat of the pressure but kept his position, sliding the dagger out just the slightest to show the stranger he meant business.

“Talk,” Akaashi spat, not in the mood to play any more games. He had been fooled once, and he intended it to be the last.

“You’re a magic user,” the stranger said, the voice of a man. Could this guy be the person with answers the woman had been talking about? “You weren’t before.”

Now that they were in close proximity, Akaashi could sense some familiarity to him. He had definitely heard that voice before, this nonchalant tone. They were much smaller than Akaashi was, and he could tell the stranger was slouching. His hair must have reached his shoulders, for they were long enough to tickle Akaashi’s arms in that position.

Akaashi slid the dagger back in and let go of the handle, putting his cane down, freeing the guy. “And you’re the convenience store worker,” he deduced, a little proud of himself for figuring it out on his own. This was a relief; he’d definitely be able to tell Bokuto apart even without sight.

“Yeah, I guess– Whoa, what the fuck happened to you?” The convenience store guy turned around to finally face him, and Akaashi hadn’t expected that kind of reply.

“What, is it really that bad?” The guy must have meant his eyes, but he hadn’t felt any changes to them apart from the slight burn that went away. He brought his free hand up to his face, letting his fingers touch around his skin. He let out a soft gasp as he came across a bump he knew had never been there before, then another, and another, all around his eye sockets. “Wait, what the fuck?”

“It’s, uh… I don’t mean that in a rude way, but are you blind?” The guy asked, and Akaashi groaned in agreement. He had almost come to terms with his loss of vision, but to learn his face had been altered, too? “Your eyes are completely black, and it looks like you have scars leaking out of them.”

Akaashi threw his cane over the bed, sitting down on the edge. He sighed, sinking his head into his hands. What kind of curse had he agreed upon? Now he wouldn’t be able to see his friends or family like this; they would freak out, or worse. He wanted to pity himself, but he was the only one to blame in the first place. All he could do now was accept the fate he had created for himself, and move on.

He let his hands fall to the side, looking in the guy’s direction as best he could. “So, what’s your name?”

“Kozume Kenma. Just Kenma is fine. I’m a Healer. Who are you?”

“Akaashi Keiji. I’m… uh, I don’t know.”

Kenma didn’t say anything, and Akaashi would have liked to see what his face read. He was pretty good at deciphering other’s emotions that way, but he’d have to make a cross on that. 

“You bargained, right?” He asked. Akaashi nodded. “You must have been pretty desperate. Who did it?”

“Some woman at the bar–”

“Alisa.”

Akaashi raised an eyebrow. “You know her?” He wondered, getting more and more intrigued by Kenma. He already knew much more than Akaashi did, which wasn’t saying much. He could probably help Akaashi out. Akaashi hoped he would; it wasn’t like he had a vast catalogue of options to pick and choose from.

“There are two bargainers of Japan, and they’re siblings. One of which is a woman,” he disclosed. Only two bargainers, and Akaashi had been unlucky enough to meet one of them? Peachy. “The other is an annoyance, but he doesn’t use his powers on vulnerable people, or on humans. Men, mostly. I think she gets a kick out of it.”

Kenma seemed to know people, know the important players of the game. Akaashi had to try. He patted the space next to him on the bed, inviting him to sit down. “Kenma, do you know Bokuto Koutarou?”

He felt Kenma’s shoulders raise up and down as he sat next to him. “Yeah, everyone knows Bokuto,” he shrugged, but he seemed to tense up afterwards. “Wait, how do _you_ know Bokuto?”

“He’s my boyfriend,” Akaashi said. “We live here.”

“No, that can’t be,” Kenma replied, to Akaashi’s surprise. What did he mean, no? “I would have known. I would have felt his energy. That’s how I found you,” he proceeded to explain, and Akaashi could tell Kenma felt confident in his skills, whatever they entailed. But this time, the guy was just plain wrong.

“You think a guy with a warlock on his ass would let anyone figure out where he was hiding?” Akaashi reasoned. He may not have known to what extent Bokuto’s powers worked either, but from Alisa’s retelling, Bokuto was the real deal.

“Fair enough,” Kenma conceded. “So… you know the story?”

He nodded. “Parts of it. I know he left for his village, but I don’t even know the name. Much less where it is.” He rubbed the back of his neck, discouraged. It was embarrassing, how little he actually knew of his boyfriend of six years.

Kenma hummed. “So that’s why you bargained. To go look for him.”

He was smart. Akaashi couldn’t tell how old he was, must have been in his twenties, but the guy sure knew how to read people. “Yeah, but… I know nothing of magic. Nothing of that world,” Akaashi resigned himself. “I don’t know how to find him. And now I’m blind, icing on the cake.”

He really hadn’t thought anything through. First, trusting a strange woman with her crazy stories and believing everything would go right if he went along with it. Now, confessing about his current sorrows to some dude who broke into his apartment. Akaashi liked to believe in the good of people, but maybe he should have toned it down a little. At least until he was sure who his allies were.

He was well aware this could have been another trap. Still, Kenma’s presence next to him felt comforting. He hadn’t been this calm in a while. Sad, but calm.

“I can’t do it alone,” Akaashi mumbled, fiddling with his fingers. He was pathetic. He missed Bokuto. “But I’ve never needed anything this bad in my life.”

Kenma sat still, not another word spoken. Akaashi had no clue what he was thinking about. Maybe how to knock Akaashi down really quick and dip before he could get too depressing. “I think… I can get a guy to help us out,” Kenma said instead, Akaashi raising his head. “He’s a friend of Bokuto’s, so I’m sure he’ll agree. He could be here by tonight.”

Holy shit. Kenma was the guy with answers, after all. “Us?” He let out in disbelief, hardly believing the fact he had a real, tangible chance to find Bokuto now.

“Well, yeah,” Kenma confirmed. “You can’t do it by yourself, and this is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened around here. I’m not going to let that pass me by.”

This guy should probably quit his job, if he’d rather embark on a dangerous quest with some stranger than stay safe in the comfort of his small shop and play games. “I don’t feel very excited,” Akaashi said, “but I am thankful for your help. It means a lot.”

Kenma got up, and it seemed the compliment had made him a little uncomfortable, judging by the little jolt in his heart rate. “I’ll… uh… I’ll go call him and gather some stuff we might need. You should stay here. Make sure no one sees you. No offense.”

Akaashi almost wanted to laugh. His face must have been a sight to see. “Sure. See you tonight, Kenma,” he waved off as his new friend walked towards the door. But before he could leave, one last question popped to mind. “Wait, how did you get in?”

Kenma turned on his heels, and Akaashi was almost certain there was a smile on his face. “Bobby pin?”

Yeah, Kenma should definitely quit his job.

※

Akaashi didn’t do much for the rest of the day. He walked around his house for the most part, trying to get a better understanding of the mechanics behind his new abilities. It helped that he had known beforehand where everything was, but as the day went on, he found himself operating around his apartment as if nothing had changed. Cooking was definitely a bit tricky, but if he listened to his surroundings well enough, he could manage something decent. Like toast.

Thankfully, Kenma brought takeout when he got back to Akaashi’s apartment later. He couldn’t tell the time very well, but he assumed nighttime was just around the corner. Kenma had brought a lot of other stuff as well, but he couldn’t figure out what, as their mass seemed to blend in with each other. Before he could put too much focus into what the formless blob was, Kenma told him he had bought backpacks, and took an item out of one.

“Got you a ticking watch,” he handed to Akaashi, the latter registering the motion in the air faster than he did this morning. Akaashi was getting better, which was a relief. He took the watch, putting his thumb over the glass. He could feel where the hands where, giving him an approximate telling. Akaashi hadn’t even known this would be one of his problems when they met earlier; Kenma was definitely the brain of their team.

They took out the food while it was still hot, eating together as they waited for Kenma’s friend to arrive. They talked a bit about Akaashi’s job as an editor, but Akaashi was more interested in knowing Kenma’s story, his curiosity growing.

When Akaashi asked about his Healer abilities, he was half expecting to be shut down, but Kenma took the time to explain. He dealt mostly with people’s ‘pure energy’, or the magic inside people — which was how he could find other magic users — but its intended purpose was to tell how badly wounded someone could be. And when that were the case, he could then use his own energy to boost up other people’s, either in healing them or restoring their stamina. 

“It doesn’t make me lose my own energy, but it doesn’t create any new energy out of thin air,” Kenma pointed out. “The amount is fixed in each individual, but its strength fluctuates. I don’t give out energy, I help strengthen it again. No energy can be lost or gained, simply dormant. Except with bargains, I guess. Or in death.”

“Do regular humans have energy?” Akaashi asked.

“They do, but if not mixed with magic, it’s dormant, too weak for me to detect,” he precised, taking a bite out of his burger.

Akaashi wondered how many different types of magic there were. He had always thought magic meant being a wizard who could cast spells, end of the story; he never thought about magic as divided pieces, and people possessing only one of many. This world was much more complicated than expected.

“This is all very weird,” Akaashi concluded, sipping on his drink.

Kenma scoffed, playful. “If you think I’m weird, wait ‘till you see the next guy.”

Akaashi would have thought the newcomer to be part of the same strange waters Kenma came from, but if Kenma’s standards classified the other guy as weird, maybe adding him to their troupe wouldn’t be such a good idea. “I thought you were calling over a friend of yours?”

Kenma’s heart picked up the pace, the air around his face heating up ever so slightly. Interesting. “Not a friend. He owes me and knows your man. That’s all there is to it.”

“Sure,” Akaashi smirked, but dropped it before Kenma could tell he had been found out. “What’s his magic type?”

By the sound of wrapping paper, Kenma had put down his burger. “It’s called Traveler. Basically, he can teleport wherever he wants within a city. He can also tell which city is nearest from him and travel there from his location, but it needs more power and he has to wait between trips.”

Huh. Akaashi didn’t know there were so many rules and exceptions to using magic. “Does that mean after he comes here, we’ll have to wait before going anywhere?” He asked, getting a little worried. He didn’t want to waste any more time, but it seemed the odds weren’t in his favour.

Akaashi didn’t even have to concentrate to feel Kenma shrug once again. “Maybe. Travelling between the human and the wizarding realms takes little power, so we should be able to get somewhere tonight. But when crossing from a wizarding village to another, that could take longer, magic barriers and all. Especially if he has to bring people along.”

Power, energy, magic, Akaashi wasn’t sure he could tell the difference, but if it made sense to Kenma, then he assumed he was in good hands. “You sure know a lot about this.”

Kenma’s face heated up again. “Against my will,” he grunted. Boy, Akaashi wasn’t feeling this. He could already tell there would be a lot to unpack between the two, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with it. “He’s coming.”

The room fell silent, and Akaashi could hear footsteps in the hallway, getting closer until they stopped in front of the apartment. Kenma could tell he had arrived as well, getting down from his stool and making his way to the door. He seemed to freeze up as he grabbed the doorknob, but Akaashi soon heard its familiar click.

“Kozume! My favourite person in the whole world,” a loud voice thundered, the person it belonged to barging into the apartment. Kenma groaned as his feet left the ground, making Akaashi frown until he realized the newcomer had caught him into a crushing hug. Kenma’s heart was beating even faster now, but so was the man’s. “I missed you.”

“I didn’t,” Kenma replied.

The traveler put Kenma down, his hand resting atop the shorter’s head. Akaashi could tell the guy was taller than both of them, and definitely more well-built, but some of his height seemed superficial at the top. Hair, probably. Akaashi still wasn’t able to distinguish textures without touching them, but he was sure it would come in time.

“So, who’s the guy in question– Oh,” his sentence came to a full stop as he turned his head, finally noticing Akaashi. Just exactly how terrible did he look? Had Kenma sugar coated it for him? “Uh… You mentioned the blind part, but…”

“You’re so fucking embarrassing,” Kenma muttered, muffled through his hands hiding his face. “Akaashi, this is Kuroo. Kuroo, Akaashi.”

Akaashi bowed his head in his direction. “Hi. Thank you for helping out. So you know Bokuto?”

Kuroo chuckled, pointing at him. “Straight to the point. I like you,” he said, coming up to the counter to take Kenma’s seat and steal some of his fries. Kenma exhaled just a little forcefully at that, not enough for Kuroo to notice, but Akaashi could tell he was exasperated.

The guy kept eating fries without a care, but just before Akaashi repeated the question, he spoke up again. “Yeah, we were buddies. I used to travel to villages around mine when I wanted to get away from my chores, and I accidently ended up in his backyard once. We’ve been friends ever since. Well, until… stuff happened.”

Kind of a cryptic note to end on, but Akaashi would unravel that later. “Can you take us to his village, then?”

“Yeah, but it’s not exactly next door,” Kuroo said, just as Kenma had warned him about. “Our towns move around compared to your fixed map, so I can’t guarantee how many villages stand between our goal. We’ll have to go through a couple at least before reaching Fukurodani, so it’s going to take time.”

_Fukuro_ , owl. Akaashi wasn’t surprised by the name, but the moving cities part was a little strange. Another thing he would let the others handle, or else his brain might suffer trying to make sense of it. He wished they could have gotten there sooner, though. The longer they were apart, the more Akaashi worried about what the bargainer had said, about Bokuto’s trip being one he wouldn’t come back from.

The situation wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t like they had much choice. He’d simply have to hope they wouldn’t get there too late. “I’m okay with whatever gets me to him.”

“Good. We’ll get going in about an hour, I need to recharge a little,” Kuroo reminded them, arms suddenly moving over his head, stretching. Then, he turned around on his stool, facing Kenma’s direction, whose heart immediately pumped a little harder. “I can’t believe I’m going on a quest with my little Kozume!” He added, his voice high-pitched.

Kenma groaned, making his way to the couch and laying down. “Yeah, can’t believe it either,” the healer sighed. Akaashi _was_ going to have to deal with this, wasn’t he?

The following hour hadn’t been as excruciatingly painful as Akaashi had imagined, the two ‘friends’ becoming a little more civilised to each other. Which only meant fewer groans from Kenma and less affectionate replies from Kuroo, but it was a start. He just had to hope they would keep this energy throughout the trip; Akaashi did not want to handle other people’s relationship while his own was hanging by a thread.

While the two helped him clean up dinner, he learned they both came from the same wizarding village, Nekoma. They told him every village had a representative colour and emblem, theirs being red and cats respectively. Moreover, some of the villages were specialised in some types of magic, but theirs was more of a melting pot. Its ancient status as sanctuary of knowledge had attracted many different types of magic users throughout history, which had resulted in the following generations having a wider range of abilities.

“What about the city we’re going to next?” Akaashi asked when they were ready to pack up. He had grabbed his staff from his bedroom already, and Kenma was grabbing food from Akaashi’s pantry to add to their backpacks.

“Today, the configuration puts us near Seijoh. Mostly wizards specialised in alchemy, so like, potions and stuff,” Kuroo explained from his spot on the couch, waiting for the two to finish packing. “An alchemist friend of mine runs an inn there, he’ll probably let us crash.”

Kenma stopped moving, puzzling Akaashi. “Don’t tell me it’s the one I’m thinking of…” Kenma trailed off, his tone wary.

“What, is it bad?” Akaashi asked, turning his head towards Kuroo with a frown. Please, he just wanted a trip without any bumps.

It was Kenma who answered from behind. “The guy is annoying…”

“Kozume thinks everyone who isn’t him is annoying,” Kuroo intervened, getting up from his seat. They had had a good thing going for the last hour; could they not start up again with their infatuation-turned-sour comebacks or whatever this was? “The guy is powerful, and frankly, he’s a lot more fun than you. And I’d like to remind you I’m the one taking you, so I take the decisions.”

“Fine,” Kenma scoffed. Then, in a softer tone, “Akaashi isn’t annoying.”

Akaashi snickered. “Thank you, Kenma.”

It was Kuroo’s turn to groan. “What the hell, you let him call you Kenma?” He complained, but Kenma didn’t seemed phased by the accusation. He was probably enjoying it. Akaashi felt flattered, though. “You’re insufferable. Anyways. Are you guys ready?”

Kenma nodded, taking the backpacks and handing one to Akaashi. They were pretty heavy, but Akaashi figured some of the weight would fall off as they would eat along the way. With his staff in hand and the watch on his wrist, he was ready to go. Ready to find Bokuto.

“Alright, give me your hands,” Kuroo instructed, standing with his feet firmly planted to the ground, his body tensing up. Akaashi was anticipating the demonstration, although he wasn’t sure how much of it he would be able to sense.

He quickly tied his staff to the side of his backpack with rope Kenma had bought, then did as told, grabbing Kuroo’s hand. Kenma seemed a little more hesitant, but his hand moved up nonetheless, before reaching out for Akaashi’s as well. Closing off the circle, all that was left to do was for Kuroo to operate his magic.

Akaashi picked up a small disturbance at their feet, the air around them slowly swirling, circling them. Its pace fastened, and Akaashi could feel the floor inside these limits change piece by piece. Before he knew it, the swirling stopped, and his feet couldn’t recognise anything, the air around him sending Akaashi completely new information. Then, he started coughing, letting go of Kuroo’s hand to cover his nostrils, but the damage had already been done.

There were so many smells in this room, so strong he felt as if he were being assaulted by their sheer presence. It must have been an effect of the heightened senses, but the surprise attack left him unable to concentrate on anything, much less try to keep reading the room.

“What’s wrong, what’s happening,” Kenma asked him, his voice much closer than Akaashi had anticipated.

He jumped in surprise, coughing up some more. “Bad. Smell, bad,” he croaked, trying to regain control over his breathing. It was working a little, but the disorientation wasn’t going away.

Still holding his hand, Kenma tugged him away and pushed him down onto a chair. It wasn’t much, but it helped make him feel a bit more grounded, less like drowning in unknown waters. He tried breathing in by the mouth instead of his nose, which made him taste the different smells instead, but the sensation was already much less intense.

“Akaashi, can you hear me?” Kenma spoke up. Akaashi nodded. “Are you okay?”

He nodded again, coughing up one last time. “It’s fine. I’ll manage. Thank you.”

Kenma must have thrown Kuroo a look, because the taller interjected. “What, how was I supposed to know?”

As the two continued bickering — _“Well, you said yourself you were the guy in charge,” “I said I was taking decisions!” “Make better ones next time,”_ — the fog in Akaashi’s mind dissipated, letting him have a better understanding of the room they were in. A counter, a door behind, another door closer by, a staircase, the entrance, a couch, the chair he was in, a coffee table. Pretty much a standard waiting area, except for the incredible number of suspended plants and vines growing along the walls.

Akaashi noticed a fourth person get in the room before Kenma and Kuroo could, coming out from the door behind the counter. Must have been the innkeeper, which was confirmed as the second they opened their mouth.

“I told you a billion times not to barge in like that,” a man’s voice said, although there was no bite to his tone. Playful, actually.

Kuroo turned his attention away from Kenma, walking up to the counter. “Sorry for making your life more interesting, Oikawa,” he nagged. Akaashi didn’t know Kuroo much yet, but he seemed to be excellent at that. “I assumed we could crash in, if that’s not a problem.”

“When I said you were welcome anytime, I expected you’d give at least a day’s notice,” the innkeeper corrected, crossing his arms over his chest. “I recognise Kozume, but who’s the other guy?”

“Name’s Akaashi,” Kuroo introduced in his place, looking over. “He’s Bokuto’s boyfriend, that’s why we’re looking for h–”

“Shut up. Are you joking?” Oikawa cut him off, walking around the counter and striding towards Akaashi and Kenma. The latter let go of Akaashi’s hand, taking a step back, and Oikawa reclaimed the spot, standing still, looking down at him without saying another word.

This was uncomfortable. “Hi,” Akaashi greeted, trying to break the weird tension, but fearing it had only made it worse. He could tell the stare was far more intense than necessary, his self-consciousness creeping back up his spine.

“Oh my god, and you two let him walk around like this?” Oikawa broke the silence, taking Akaashi by surprise. He had expected a comment about his eyes, which it was in a way, but this take was nowhere near what he could have imagined. “And what’s with his nose?” He added, Akaashi still blocking his nostrils from the earlier scents.

“He’s a Rogue, and your potions make it hard to breathe,” Kenma finally spoke up for the first time since their arrival.

A Rogue? Was that his magic type? He hadn’t even asked yet, too preoccupied with turning blind. He wasn’t sure what it meant either, but it felt validating to have a proper name. Like he was part of this new world, although he sure lacked in knowledge.

“Shit, my bad. Kuroo, baby, could you close my office door? That should help,” Oikawa instructed, which sent Kenma into a silent frenzy. Kuroo went ahead and did as told, but Akaashi kept his hand in place just in case. “Also,” he continued, “don’t go around telling people you’re friends of Bokuto. The price on his head goes up day by day, and if people heard he had a boyfriend on the loose, I’m guaranteeing you’d become targets.”

Akaashi frowned. Things must have been worse that what he had been told, for the lives of everyone around Bokuto to be concerned. He was curious to know, but at the same time, he did not want any part of it. His feelings hadn’t changed since embarking on this journey; the end goal remained the same, and that was to see Bokuto again, no matter the amount of craziness thrown his way.

No matter the secrets he might discover along the way.

※

The night went by in a flash. Oikawa had offered them his two remaining rooms, Kenma almost immediately asking Akaashi if he wanted to share one. It seemed he wanted to avoid Kuroo like the plague, even though Kenma had asked for his help in the first place. Akaashi accepted, and he could practically smell Kuroo’s displeasure across the room. Or maybe that was just the strong concoction Oikawa had been working on before they arrived. Both were unpleasing.

Akaashi woke up unusually well rested, and quite late, he learned as he touched his watch. He got up and dressed himself as best he could, taking clothes from his backpack at random and hoping they would look somewhat decent together. As much as he could “see” his surroundings, colours did not pass the test.

Kenma must have left for breakfast some time ago, his bed already made, so Akaashi decided to head for the lobby and wait for him there. As he grabbed his staff, he noticed a small box sitting at the foot of his own bed, one he was certain hadn’t been there when they first came in. He hesitated, but he could tell the thing was almost weightless, so whatever had been in there would most likely be harmless.

Unless some poisonous gas was just waiting for him to fall in nose first, but he shook his head, hating that tendency of his to think of this many horrible scenarios.

He opened the compartment and let his fingers do the work. It was a small piece of fabric, much longer than it was thick. Akaashi had no clue what it was for, but it did have a strong flower scent as well, which helped deducing who had given him the box in the first place. Oikawa’s first words directed at him were a complaint about his appearance, which he did not have to make such a fuss about, but in retrospect he now understood what this gift was about.

Akaashi tied the blindfold over his eyes, securing it tightly in the back, and promptly left the room. As he walked down the hallway, having mapped it out the night before, he wondered what to think of this Oikawa fellow. Akaashi hadn’t spent much time with the guy, but he could usually pin-point personalities with few interactions. In a matter of minutes he had figured out Kenma was the shy but witty type, Kuroo the loud mouth with a secret soft spot, and all those years ago, Bokuto the happy-go-lucky, but incredibly clueless love of his life.

(The very last part wasn’t that instant, but it didn’t take him many weeks to figure out he wanted to spend as much time with Bokuto as life would let them.)

But with Oikawa, it still hanged in the balance. He was for sure a thoughtful person, letting them stay overnight, bringing him a gift, looking out for their safety, but his mouth didn’t seem to reciprocate at times. He was definitely expressive and didn’t beat around the bush, but all was said in such a playful tone Akaashi couldn’t tell when he was being serious. He was a strange character, but then again, so was everyone around him these days.

There was no one around in the lobby when he got there, but he could hear voices coming from an adjacent room. He recognised Kuroo’s, indignant as he yelled “ _You told your friend?_ ”, and all Akaashi had to do was follow the sound of his voice into what seemed to be a a small bar area. Unless the wall of bottles behind the counter was only there for decoration.

“Well, yeah, it’s Iwa-chan. What was I supposed to do, _not_ tell him?”

“Uh, yeah. You’re the one who told us to keep it on the low,” Kuroo retorted, and Akaashi didn’t need any more information to know what was going on. He signaled his arrival with a small cough, all heads turning his way. All three; Kenma was there as well, sitting by himself at a table far from the two, whereas Kuroo was seated by the bar Oikawa seemed to be tending, although none had drinks.

“Morning. Thank you for the blindfold,” he said, giving a small head nod in Oikawa’s direction.

“Aww, I’m glad you like it!” Oikawa greeted him back, but turned his interest back to Kuroo in an instant. “And I’ll have you know I trust Iwa-chan with my life. He won’t tell anyone,” he reassured Kuroo, resting his elbows on the counter. “...and I’m also telling Ushiwaka when he comes.”

Kuroo groaned, getting up from his stool. “Who even is that? Why are you telling everyone you know?”

“Why do you want to know? Are you jealous?” Oikawa leaned closer, sending both Kuroo and Kenma in different states of fluster. Either Oikawa was indeed interested in Kuroo, or he was trying to get a rise out of the two. Whichever it was, he seemed to enjoy the extra attention.

“Not the point, not even a little bit,” Kuroo backtracked, sighing. “You’re being very impulsive, and that’s not your secret to tell.”

“It’s all part of my charm, baby,” he chuckled at his own words, but when Kuroo didn’t seem to immediately swoon, he resigned himself. “Fine, I ‘won’t tell’,” he said, and Akaashi did notice his subtle usage of air quotes. Which was a bit worrying. “Anyways, you’ll meet him in a minute. He’s very punctual.”

Oikawa then proceeded to walk off towards the opposite end of the room, opening up a window before returning to his original spot, pouring himself a drink. Whisky, by the smell. Akaashi wondered why Oikawa had bothered to open a window when the place was nowhere near stuffy, and already quite cold, but his question was somewhat answered when a huge bird flew in and perched itself on top of a chair, stealing everyone’s attention.

And by huge, Akaashi meant massive. He had never been the bird expert in his relationship, so he wasn’t sure he would be able to tell exactly its type without looking, but it must have been an eagle at the very least. Times three, maybe. Where there bigger birds?

But even that question was sidetracked as the bird seemed to grow in size, Akaashi stumbling back in surprise. Its wings lost their feathers, legs morphing into unruly proportions, and it took a minute of stupor for Akaashi to realise the bird was transforming, and said bird had now become a human being.

“What in the hell…” Akaashi let out, feeling Kenma’s head turn his way.

“Shapeshifter,” he answered.

The bird-person stood still, and for a brief second of horror Akaashi wondered if shapeshifting meant they were standing naked in the middle of the room. Past the initial shock, he could tell there was some fabric covering him up, so the situation was averted. These people were magic users; their clothes probably didn’t tear off the way werewolves’ in movies did. Hopefully, for the sake of his seeing friends.

“Hi, Oikawa,” the man spoke up, his tone deep. He felt very tall, as well as buff, and the way Akaashi could feel him stare the room down slowly all added up into an intimidating individual. “Sorry for the fuss. I see you have some friends over.”

“Hey! Guys, this is Ushiwaka. My fated rival who has come to defeat me once and for all.”

Akaashi frowned, holding on tighter to his staff. This was the guy Oikawa wanted to tell his identity to? An enemy? Had Oikawa broken their trust, lying and telling them people could hunt them down, when in reality, he was the one planning on doing just that in the first place?

Oikawa must have felt the tension in the room go up, Kuroo reaching for the knife on his back as Kenma froze in place, because he soon waved his arms around and chuckled. “At cards, guys! Rival at cards. I invited him to play cards with us.”

“And I do plan on beating you senseless today, Oikawa Tooru,” Ushiwaka forewarned, taking a deck out of his back pocket. “All of you, for that matter.”

Kuroo dropped his hand back to his side, looking back at Oikawa. “Joke around like that again and I’ll take your fingers,” he snickered, halfway between joke and threat. Akaashi would not want to cross him. “But I’ll bite. Kenma, you playing?”

Kenma seemed hesitant, but Oikawa butted in again. “Please, Kenma! The more the merrier,” he invited him, but Kenma was not convinced, looking at Akaashi instead.

“If Akaashi can’t play, I don’t think I should–”

“It’s fine, Kenma,” Akaashi cut him off, giving him a small smile. “I don’t like card games anyway. I wouldn’t play even if I could see.”

That was a lie, but he didn’t want Kenma to hold back on having fun for the sake of keeping him company. He used to play cards with Bokuto a lot, seated on their couch back at the apartment on rainy days. Bokuto wasn’t particularly good, but winning would always put him in the greatest mood, so Akaashi sometimes refrained from using powerful moves just to see him jump around that endearing way of his. Other times, Akaashi absolutely decimated him and he would fall into a mood, but an apology in the form of kisses would usually bring him back to his happy self.

Akaashi really missed him.

Oikawa chose a table and the five of them sat in a circle, Akaashi pushing himself a bit to the side in order not to interfere. The players decided on a game Akaashi had never heard of and started without wasting another minute. Oikawa and Kuroo were the most talkative, Ushiwaka making comments when it seemed appropriate, and Kenma only spoke when he was asked a question. 

The conversation started with small talk about their families, friends catching up after months of distance, but ended up revolving mostly about things Akaashi had never heard about, magic related stuff he couldn’t understand a single word of. Stories of their youth, of their years in magical academies, stories he couldn’t relate to. Even jokes and puns too specific to join in on the laughter.

Akaashi knew they weren’t purposely excluding him, but he felt left out nonetheless.

It had already been hard enough to wrap his head around the whole _Bokuto is a wizard_ thing, _there’s an entire magical world living right beside yours you never had the slightest clue about_ thing, but this felt worse. Knowing about the existence of this world, being a part of it, but just standing on the edge, clueless about it all, looking at the big picture without understanding a single part of it. The big picture growing into unimaginable proportions, surrounding him from all sides, until he felt suffocated by all these things he didn’t know.

He felt lacking. Like if he didn’t study this world hard enough, he would never reach what he longed for. Like the distance between him and his lover wasn’t a physical one, but rather mental, thousands of miles away from each other, on completely different planes of existence. If he couldn’t keep up with Bokuto, if he couldn’t cram in all he needed to know, he would be left behind again.

To think this way was making him more frustrated than anything, so he focused on his fingers instead, stretching them, tapping on his knee, picking his nails. Anything to be distracted. He’d get angry about his own incompetence if he didn’t.

It seemed Akaashi wasn’t the only one brooding, as he noticed Kenma hadn’t looked up from his deck in a while. Kenma had at least tried to take part in the conversation in the beginning, but he had given up now, his attention on his cards only. Akaashi had been too caught up in his own thoughts to notice how it had happened, but it didn’t take long before Oikawa threw another flirty comment Kuroo’s way, and he didn’t need a genius to piece two and two together.

Akaashi stood up from his seat. This energy was getting too depressing to deal with, and even though he knew getting away would only meant he’d be alone with nothing but his thoughts, at least he’d prefer it to hating himself in the middle of a crowd that didn’t care.

Someone did care, though, as Kenma asked in his usual soft tone if he was alright. Kenma cared a lot for someone he had met a day ago. And Kenma would have probably preferred not to be left alone with these three musketeers flirting with each other, but Akaashi was too tired to deal with staying.

“I’ll have some snacks in the room,” he excused himself. Akaashi hadn’t even had breakfast yet. Maybe he’d eat his feelings away. “Everything’s fine.”

※

In the end, his day had been nothing but terrible. Cooped up in his room, munching on too many granola bars he didn’t even like the taste of, seeing nothing but darkness all around him, missing his boyfriend, not an ideal trip he was taking. Too scared to even go outside, fearing he wouldn’t understand his surroundings and get lost, or worst, be confronted by strangers. A miserable day for a miserable human being.

Kenma didn’t get back to the room as soon as Akaashi had thought. He had assumed the healer would have come back as soon as their game ended, but hours passed under the touch of his watch and Kenma still hadn’t returned. When he did, he jumped onto his bed face first and didn’t say a word, sulking the same way Akaashi had done earlier. He ended up muffling through his pillow that he had gone out on a longer walk than intended, which Akaashi was thankful to hear.

The one day mark between travels set by Kuroo was almost over, and Akaashi was glad they were finally leaving. He was sure Seijoh was a wonderful city, but he honestly did not care an inch in his state of mind. Kenma seemed just as eager to leave as he was, the two men starting to pack up their stuff when Kuroo knocked on their door, inviting himself in.

“I think we should stay the night,” he suggested as soon as he set foot in their room, straight to the point. The two roommates froze, turning their heads towards him as if he had announced the end of the world.

It kind of felt like it, in a way. Akaashi stood up from where he was crouched, his jaw clenched. “Why,” he said, trying not to betray any anger of his that might threaten to burst out.

Kuroo shrugged, rubbing the back of his head. “Uhm, it’s pretty late to travel, don’t you guys feel a bit tired?” _No_. “Also, next city is Inarizaki, and I don’t know anyone there that would be willing to let us crash like this, so it would probably be better to get there in the morning,” he reasoned, but as much as Akaashi hated this prospect, Kuroo was making some points.

On the other end, this would make them reach Fukurodani later. Akaashi didn’t want more hours standing between him and Bokuto, and he thought he had made himself pretty clear about it. He didn’t want to treat this as a backstabbing moment, because Kuroo was the reason they were getting anywhere in the first place, but… after a day of moping, he couldn’t stop the thoughts of betrayal from nesting inside his mind.

“I don’t believe I have the luxury of wasting time like this,” he voiced out, his hands turning to fists. This shitty day would never end, would it? “But I understand if you’re tired. You’re the one in charge. I wouldn’t want to force you.”

At the end of the day, Akaashi had to depend on people. Depend on Kenma, on Kuroo. He couldn’t let his pettiness get in the way of what he wanted. Accept what you can’t change, and let go of the things you can’t control, his therapist had told him too many times to count. As much as he hated letting his fate rest in the hands of other people, it was his only option.

As Akaashi sat down on his bed, Kenma spoke up. “Alright. We need to talk,” he told Kuroo, before striding towards him and grabbing his arm, taking him outside the room and closing the door behind them.

Akaashi fell back on the bed, ready to send himself back into self deprecating territory, but Kenma’s voice through the wall rang to his ears clear as day. Right. Heightened hearing and paper thin wall did wonders for privacy.

“ _What is wrong with you?_ ” Kenma started, unusually loud for his quiet self. It must have been a result of all the pent up feelings he had bottled up throughout the day, seeing Kuroo and Oikawa all chummy together and rubbing it in his face.

Kuroo could say anything, Kenma wouldn’t let him get away with anything in this state. “ _What? He said he’s fine with it._ ”

“ _Because he’s polite. You know why we’re doing this, right? What this means to him?_ ”

“ _Yes, very much aware. You told me a million times._ ”

Kenma scoffed. “ _You don’t care about him. You don’t care at all. Why did you even bother helping if you were going to be prickly about it?_ ”

“ _Because_ you _asked me! That’s why I’m here! Or what, was I supposed to say no?_ ”

Kenma sighed, taking a pause to ignore the implications of Kuroo’s statement before continuing. “ _Isn’t Bokuto your friend? Can’t you at least pretend to do this for him?_ ”

“ _You know what, Kenma? Bokuto left me, too. I haven’t seen him in years. I don’t owe him anything. We don’t even know if he’s alive!_ ” Kuroo yelled out the last part. 

It stung to hear. But while Akaashi had been in his room pitying himself, thinking about how much he missed Bokuto, he hadn’t realised how this trip could have been affecting Kuroo, too. He had been friends with Bokuto. And then Bokuto had left for the human realm without saying a word, and years later, the boyfriend of said man was on his doorstep asking for help. This must have been hard for Kuroo as well, but of course Akaashi had to be selfish about everything.

“ _I don’t have to pretend to care_ ,” Kuroo added, much softer this time, but the bite in his words hadn’t left. “ _I’m doing what I can, and that should already be enough._ ”

“ _I care about this_ ,” Kenma said, so soft Akaashi barely missed it. “ _Don’t you care about me?_ ”

Akaashi waited for Kuroo’s reply, but all he received instead were Kenma’s footsteps walking away, shutting Kuroo’s door with more force than necessary, and getting back to his own room.

The morning couldn’t come fast enough.

※

They were up before the sun, already packed and ready to go from the night before. Kuroo had brought them pastries for breakfast, but as good as they were, it didn’t help much with clearing the air of the incredible tension in the room. Akaashi had thought their bickering to be insufferable, but this was unbearable.

Kenma hadn’t said a word since Kuroo had gotten in the room, only taking a pastry after Akaashi had taken the bag out of Kuroo’s hands and offered him one himself. Akaashi had said many times he did not want to deal with the childish antics of two people who clearly liked each other but were too stupid to act on it like normal human beings, and yet here he was, mending bridges he didn’t even need to cross in the first place.

Kuroo cleared his throat, leaning against the wall. “So. Anyone has a plan? I’d rather we figure it out before we get there.”

The question was mostly for Kenma, Akaashi being too uninformed to help out in proper ways, but Kenma didn’t answer, staring at the wall and eating in silence. Akaashi liked Kenma, but part of him was siding with Kuroo on this one. What Kenma said the night before had almost felt like an ultimatum, and this was neither the time or place to pull a stunt like that, to put Kuroo on the spot when he was risking everything to be here with them. Then again, he understood Kenma’s motivations as well, his feelings, and how Kuroo seemed to disregard him at times, but neither were completely in the right, or the wrong for that matter.

Akaashi hummed, trying to think of an appropriate answer since Kenma didn’t look like he was planning on helping, but the healer spoke up before Akaashi could say a word.

“I know a guy there,” he disclosed, putting down his croissant. “A Healer I went to school with. I haven’t seen him in years, but we exchange letters from time to time. Last I’ve heard, he was helping out a friend open an onigiri shop.”

Kuroo’s heartbeat picked up as Kenma spoke, and Akaashi would have rolled his eyes if he still could. “But,” Kenma continued, “it’s not a regular shop. It’s a front for a rebellious organisation he’s a part of. If we go there, we can’t be careless like we were in here. Kita is a good person, but I don’t know the people he’s associating with, so I don’t want to take any chances. We stay a day, not a second more, and move.”

This was an obvious call out, but Kuroo nodded. “How long ago have you two last seen each other?” He asked, and only then did Kenma turn to face him.

“Ten to twelve years, give or take.”

Kuroo winced through gritted teeth. “Well, let’s hope he remembers you as well as you do, then.”

Akaashi finished his food and put on his backpack, getting up from his bed and ready to finally head over to the next city. He was apprehensive about this next one, Kenma’s warning giving him a new reason to worry, but he had to remind himself he wasn’t alone in this. Whatever happened, they’d help out each other, even if they weren’t in their best state right now. They were still a team, and Akaashi believed if one of them was ever in trouble, the two others would do everything in their power to restore order.

They regrouped in a circle just as they did in Akaashi’s apartment, Kuroo holding out his hands. Akaashi didn’t waste any time, but Kenma hesitated again. Akaashi sighed, grabbing Kenma’s hand and shoving it in Kuroo’s before taking his other one, and they were ready to go.

The air spiral coming from the ground didn’t surprise him this time, and Akaashi felt a small burst of confidence build up inside him. The illusion didn’t last long, as he remembered the immediate disorientation he had felt once they had landed to Seijoh, and all that was left to do was hope the same thing wouldn’t happen again.

Wrong.

They had landed outside, he could tell by the clamor and the rocky ground at his feet. There were no strong smells this time, no assault of his senses, but rather the opposite; he couldn’t tell things apart as well as he used to. His perception of objects around him had faded, and he seemed to have trouble understanding his surroundings, even though he had made so much progress in the past few days.

Then, it clicked: he hadn’t been outside ever since getting his abilities. When he was in closed rooms, he worked well with the air pressure, feeling the mould of every person’s movement around him, the presence of every tiny irregularity in a space. But now that everything was open, that the air wasn’t restricted by four walls, this part of his ability had flown out the window. He could feel the presence of the things closest to him, but after a certain radius, way too small for his liking, he was entering unknown territory.

The two guys let go of his hands, but before they could walk away, Akaashi grabbed onto Kenma’s shoulder, the healer sensing the urgency in his grip. He felt pathetic to do this again, to be taken aback by a new place and rely on Kenma’s help every time. He hoped Kenma wouldn’t regret taking Akaashi under his wing.

“Sorry,” he apologised before Kenma could ask what was wrong. “Just– let’s go.”

“Don’t apologise,” Kenma countered immediately, untying the rope around Akaashi’s backpack and handing him his staff as well. It was baffling, how much Kenma could tell about him with so little. “And full disclosure, I don’t know where his shop is. We will need to ask around.”

‘We’ soon became ‘Kuroo’, Kenma being Kenma and Akaashi being a little too suspicious-looking with his headband over his eyes to receive any sort of valid answer from strangers. It didn’t help they had no idea about the name either, but after walking up to a few stands, Kenma sneaking some fruit inside his backpack along the way, an old man promised to give them semi-clear instructions in exchange for gold. Kuroo groaned but begrudgingly took out a few pieces from his pocket, and next thing they knew, the trio was standing in front of a small shop called Onigiri Miya.

“Looks cozy,” Kuroo commented. “You wouldn’t know it’s a front at all.”

“That’s why it’s called a front, dumbass,” Kenma retorted, entering the shop with Akaashi on his tail. Kuroo shook his head, unable to hide his chuckle.

As soon as Akaashi got inside, he felt the tension in his chest relax, the familiar feeling of a closed room coming back to him. He let go of Kenma’s shoulder and took a second to ground himself and understand his surroundings, now that he finally could. Lots of tables, lots of chairs, but most importantly warm, and a great smell coming from the kitchen. This might have been the best place they had visited yet.

Aside from the people sitting at all corners of the room immediately stopping their conversations as they entered, staring. That kind of threw off the vibe.

Each step taken towards the shop’s counter felt worse than the previous one, Akaashi more and more convinced this was the worst place they had visited yet. They were in unknown territory, no allies to cover for them, blind trust put into someone who didn’t know they were coming and hadn’t seen Kenma in over a decade… It was a wonder they had even agreed to this plan in the first place. There weren’t many people in the shop, but they already outnumbered their group, and Akaashi could tell they had weapons. Multiple each.

“Hi, what can I get you folks,” the man at the counter greeted them, not an ounce of emotion in his voice. Akaashi felt his head slowly turn towards each of them, as if assessing their weaknesses, already plotting to take them down.

“I’m, uh, we’re looking for Kita? Kita Shinsuke,” Kenma spoke on their behalf, as unthreatening as possible. They were all on edge, but so was the employee as he heard the name they were looking for, his heart skipping a beat. It all happened in a fraction of second, but Akaashi had noticed. And at the risk of repeating himself, he did not like it any bit.

“And what business do you have with him?” The employee asked, a slight raise in his voice.

The already silent restaurant fell deadly quiet, the seated people on their guards. Akaashi wanted to move closer to his friends, but he feared making one move would get them to jump out of their seat and take them hostage.

“My name is Kenma and I’m his friend. I thought we could catch up,” Kenma said. 

Akaashi caught a very faint ‘ _He gets to call you Kenma, too?_ ’ from Kuroo.

The employee stood still, staring Kenma down once more, before leaving for the kitchen area. The air around them was tense as ever as a second employee took his place, raising his arm to point at a nearby table.

“Suna will be back shortly. Please sit while you wait,” he offered, but it felt much more like an order.

They obliged, Kuroo and Kenma sharing a look as they sat down, dropping their backpacks at their feet. All three were extremely wary of the situation they had been put in, but for Akaashi, every little movement being amplified was making him anxious. The micro movements of the people around them — he could count 6, including the employee that had last spoken to them —, the tension in the air he could practically taste on his skin, the stares at the back of his head, it was as if he possessed magnifying glasses from all directions and couldn’t turn them any of them off, despite how much he wanted to ignore everything.

Strangely enough, one stare felt stronger than the others. It came from a deep corner of the room, one individual seated alone far from their little group, face covered by a piece of fabric, but more chilling to the bone than any other person in that room. Not even the other table of four and their hands ready to draw their weapons could amount to that singular presence piercing the back of Akaashi’s head. It was almost as if… as if what Akaashi could feel was their energy. Kind of like Kenma. If that was even possible. He honestly didn’t know what fell into the categories of possibilities and impossibilities, at this point.

Akaashi wanted to tell the others, but the impression these people would not waste a second to come for their necks had only grown stronger overtime. This did not seem to phase Kuroo, however, as he cleared his throat to speak up.

“Are you guys hungry or something? It smells really good.”

“We just had breakfast, Kuroo,” Kenma dismissed, annoyance dripping from his words.

The people watching them shuffled in their seats, Akaashi gripping his staff tighter, but by their exchanged looks it seemed they were more confused than intent on attacking. 

Kuroo rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Yeah, I don’t know. I feel like it’s rude to sit down and not order anything.”

He was a different type of brave for sure. It reminded Akaashi of Bokuto, in a way. How they were able to ease into a conversation no matter the situation, most of the time using completely ridiculous statements to throw people off, and at the same time draw all attention to themselves. Bokuto would sometimes do that to get Akaashi out of his own head, when he would hyperfocus on a task or suddenly spiral back into old habits.

Kuroo was trying to distract the watchers while letting them unclench. He was quite the strategist.

“Why are you like this,” Kenma mumbled, either the situation flying under his nose, or indulging Kuroo in his scheme. Probably the latter, seeing as Kenma was too smart to let anything out of his sight. And this was Kuroo; Kenma paid attention to him in ways Akaashi wouldn’t even begin to notice. Although he did notice Kenma’s heart rate picking back up.

Kuroo opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out, footsteps echoing in the room cutting him off. It seemed the first employee they had met had returned, trailing off behind someone new. Kenma turned around in his chair and stood up as he saw them, Akaashi taking this as a good sign, but he could tell the watchers had tensed up even more after this new individual’s entrance, which was the opposite of a good sign.

Kenma didn’t say a word, waiting for the other, presumably Kita, to recognise him first. Time seemed to stretch in the shop as they waited for this silence to be broken, like in classic westerns Bokuto loved so much — except much less fun now that they were actually in a face off.

Then, “When Suna said Kenma was here, I thought he was tricking me,” Kita said, scoffing. He marched forwards, engulfing Kenma into a hug, and like a rubber band the tension in the room instantly broke, relief washing over them. “It’s good to see you.”

“I thought we wouldn’t find you. Happy to see you, too,” Kenma greeted him as well, letting go of his friend.

“We should catch up. How long are you in town?” Kita asked, sitting down to their table. They had just gotten over an important obstacle and they were already facing another one, just as dangerous: concealing their identity while earning this man’s trust. A man either feared or adored by the people in this room. Both often came hand in hand.

They needed to stay careful. “Just for a day. Trying to get to Nekoma,” Kenma lied, effortless. Akaashi didn’t think Kenma would lie to his friend when just earlier he had told them how much he trusted Kita, but Akaashi was still grateful.

“Right, must have been a while since you were there,” Kita nodded, making Akaashi wonder how many letters ‘from time to time’ they had really shared. Kuroo seemed to have the same thoughts, tensing up beside him. “Who are your friends? Wait, I’ll introduce you to my people first.”

Kita waved to the table of four, inviting them over. Akaashi was not liking the extra attention but the individuals made their way up regardless, grabbing chairs and gathering around their table in a circle. The lone stranger with the great stare refused the invite, staying put in his seat away from the commotion, which didn’t appease Akaashi.

“You’ve met Suna and Osamu already, us three work the shop most of the time,” Kita started the introductions, the two employees nodding at the mention of their names. “There’s Atsumu who helps out when he feels like it, but he’s not very good so I’m not complaining–”

“I am good, if ya let me have the creative freedom I need,” one of the four newcomers retorted, presumably Atsumu. “But I do respect yer work ethic.” He backtracked, confirming the fear and adoration theory. Who exactly was this Kita?

“Anyways, there’s also Ojiro, Omimi, and finally, Gin. And we are the Dark Foxes,” Kita concluded, leaning back in his chair. “There’s also Sakusa, but he likes to pretend he’s shy,” he nodded in the direction of the stranger, Akaashi finally putting a name on this silent, but entrancing presence.

“Dark Foxes, huh?” Kuroo commented, both Kenma and Akaashi snapping their necks. They were on thin ice already, if he said anything out of place– “That’s kinda badass. Are you looking for members? I know a trick or two.”

Well. It could have been worse. “Maybe a name first, then we’ll consider,” Atsumu answered, cocky. It seemed he liked being the center of attention, and just like Kuroo, he was ready to jump on any opportunity to speak up. “The ninja, too.”

Akaashi frowned just as Kita raised his hand up. “Atsumu, please make yourself useful and go to the kitchen,” the healer ordered. “The least you could do is bring out food for the guests if you’re going to make tasteless comments like these.”

Was Kita their boss or their friend? Kenma had mentioned his friend joining a rebellious organisation, not leading it, but he sure seemed like the man in charge here. Atsumu groaned but obeyed him nonetheless, not without mumbling a few insults under his breath first.

“He gets excited when we get fresh blood in here. Sorry about that,” Kita apologised. “To you especially. I don’t recall your name?” he added, addressing Akaashi directly.

Realistically, Akaashi had known he would need to speak at some point, but his throat still dried up now that the moment had come. “It’s, uh, Akaashi. From… Nekoma. We are all from Nekoma, yeah,” he sputtered, a lot more anxious than he had thought. “I’m… not a ninja.”

This was embarrassing.

“Yeah, he got in a freak accident when he was a child,” Kuroo jumped in before he could dig a deeper hole for himself. “It’s not pretty. Scars everywhere. He almost died! Anyways, I’m Kuroo, heard a great deal about you.”

This wasn’t much better.

“You guys are going to Nekoma, right?” one of the men Kita had introduced as Ojiro asked. “Isn’t Fukurodani on the way? Maybe you should wait until everything blows over. It’s getting crazier by the day, apparently.”

Akaashi froze. Up until now he had managed to avoid learning about this fight Bokuto had joined, but the more they were nearing their destination, the more he was bound to hear about it.

“What’s happening in Fukurodani?” Kenma asked, putting on his best innocent face. He was sneaky, Akaashi had to admit. That way, it would detach them from suspicion, while gaining practical knowledge before heading into the city tomorrow morning.

“I heard the city’s almost gone. Huge fires everywhere, homes burnt to the ground,” Atsumu barged in, setting a platter of onigiris on the table. “By the end of this, there might not even be a Fukurodani anymore.”

“Yeah, that’s why their citizens jumped over here, but now we’re running out of space.”

“Someone told me the wizards were even more reckless than the warlock, just shooting out spells for the hell of it. No regards for people’s lives.”

“Apparently the warlock put out prize money for anyone who could find that Bokuto guy’s parents. He hid them out of town for some reason, and now there’s a crazy amount of people looking for them.”

“Bokuto had it coming, though. Making a deal with that devil, then chickening out… Shoulda known not to mess with dark magic.”

“If he’s not dead already.”

Kita cleared his throat, putting an end to the speculation. “We’ve heard a lot of different things, but this doesn’t make them facts,” he reasoned, but it was too late. “Akaashi, you’re looking pale. Want an onigiri?”

No, Akaashi did not want an onigiri, as much as he loved them. Because there was something he loved more, someone he couldn’t reach, someone he was hearing terrible things about, being defamed in front of his ears, twisted into senseless rumours and it was just too much, it was too much, he couldn’t believe people would talk about him like this, he couldn’t believe people would threaten his family, or believe Bokuto would ever harm people–

But did Akaashi know Bokuto? Did he? Bokuto had left. He had kept him in the dark about an entire world, integral to who he was. He had never talked about his family, his past, too many things he hadn’t told him about for Akaashi to pretend he knew him by heart. Akaashi thought he did. Bokuto was a good man. Is, was? Which was it?

And dark magic? Akaashi might not have known much, but dark magic must have been the bad one, right? Was Bokuto evil? No, he wasn’t. Akaashi would have noticed in their six years of dating. Right? Unless he had forgotten about those parts; Bokuto had proven himself capable of removing memories, Tsukishima and his mother as living proof. Could he have done this to his own fiancé?

No. Yes? Fuck. “I’m– I need air. To step out a minute,” he excused himself, getting up from his seat.

The chair scraped the ground a little too loud for his liking, but at this point, he didn’t care for maintaining his cover. He was angry. He was a lot of other things, but anger always managed to rise on top when he was on edge. And if he didn’t leave here and now, he feared it would burst out in an ugly way.

“Outside? Do you want me to come?” Kenma asked, forever thoughtful of Akaashi’s condition. But right now, he needed to be alone.

“I won’t be long,” he declined, making his way to the exit and leaving the shop at once.

As much as Akaashi needed to leave, he knew stepping any further would get him lost in this unknown city in a matter of seconds. He would have loved to storm off, go crawl into a small hole between alleyways and ignore civilisation for the rest of the day, but for one, he couldn’t do that anytime he got upset, like the day before, and two, he physically couldn’t. So instead, he rested his back to the wall, under the shop’s insignia, and exhaled.

All he wanted was Bokuto in his arms. Skin to skin, a physical touch to prove to himself this hadn’t been the neverending dream he believed to be trapped in. Caught in a hug, melting in the safe presence of the other. Bokuto’s voice in his ears whispering his name. Or shouting it. Or shouting any of the catchphrases he had branded himself with; Akaashi wasn’t picky. Any word, really. Just Bokuto’s voice would be enough.

He didn’t want the rest of this. The rumours, the name calling, the lies, he didn’t want to hear it. Would that make him blind to reality? What was reality in the first place? Too many times he had had to ask himself that very question, and none of these times did he find the answer. It was tiring. More so than the tiredness he had felt, alone in his apartment, all traces of Bokuto vanished from existence. This was exhausting to a different degree, less pleasant, if that were even possible.

The knowledge he was utterly useless in this world must have been the biggest part of this helplessness. A bystander to his own quest. The secondary character of his own story — and he should know, he was a writer. Bokuto was talked about as such a grand wizard, all his friends were known and respected as masters of the magic they possessed, and him? An infant who barely knew how to use his two feet, in comparison. A guy with a dream bigger than his own head, and no idea how to execute it without being held by the hand. Literally.

The bell by the door chimed, and at first Akaashi didn’t care enough to identify who had stepped out, but changed his mind once he felt the stare. Sakusa. It didn’t last any longer than a second, Sakusa walking away from the shop. And then, just before he reached the limits of Akaashi’s limited radar, he stopped in his tracks, tilting his head just the slightest.

As if he wanted Akaashi to notice him. As if he wanted Akaashi to follow him.

Akaashi didn’t know what this stranger would want with him, but he felt tempted to comply. Sakusa was definitely unlike anyone he had met here, or ever for that matter, and something just felt right about this. It shouldn’t have — he was vulnerable, alone, nothing but his staff to defend himself — yet he could tell he needed to do this. This energy calling out to him, he should have felt scared of its power, but as he put one foot forward, then another, he couldn’t bring himself to back away.

Sakusa stayed at a safe distance, leading Akaashi through the crowd. There were a lot of people roaming these streets, possibly because of their exile as suggested by Atsumu, which should have made it harder not to lose Sakusa, but his presence felt so strong Akaashi wasn’t sure he would have been able to do so.

Many turned corners later, the crowd thinning considerably as they advanced, Akaashi reached an open gate, their destination, he supposed. Crossing the threshold, he could immediately tell the ground had changed; the village’s cobblestone streets were replaced by solid earth, a sensation Akaashi had never experienced yet, but was incredibly satisfying at first touch. He hadn’t noticed how restricting this stone had been, and this new experience was freeing. As if the Earth was here to help him, its reverberations speaking to Akaashi, his reach expanding despite the open air restriction.

Grounded in the Earth was a building standing in front of him, and as he walked closer and begun to tell its shape, Akaashi scrunched up his nose. Was this a temple? he wondered, until he heard the swish of a blade coming from inside. This must have been a dojo.

He walked up the step and got in, his suspicions confirmed by the matted floor and the wall of stacked blades of various shapes and sizes. Rows of swords, daggers, sabers, spears, even a crossbow were laid out in front of him, a most impressive, but scary collection. Sakusa seemed to be inspecting a specific sword, but he turned on his heels when Akaashi stopped going any further.

Akaashi stayed quiet, expecting Sakusa to explain himself, or what this place was, but it seemed he was in no mood to talk. Back at the onigiri shop, Akaashi had noticed there was fabric of some kind over his face, but now that they were standing much closer, he could tell this was a mask covering his mouth.

Could it be… that they were the same?

The sheer thought was enough to give him goosebumps. Someone who could understand was more than enough. “Who are you?” Akaashi broke the ice, then revised himself. If he couldn’t speak, how would he answer? “Uh, I mean–”

“I should be the one to ask,” Sakusa answered, disproving any theory Akaashi could have begun to make. “Sorry to break your expectations,” he added, oddly. “But don’t get it twisted. You are the stranger between the two of us.”

His words were simple, but Akaashi felt like his sentences were riddles. He didn’t know what to answer — frankly, he didn’t know how to tackle these… statements? Something felt weird. Maybe he shouldn’t have trusted his gut. He was a logic-based guy; why did he start going along with his gut all of a sudden?

“What I mean is, I can tell you are inexperienced,” Sakusa clarified, weirdly coinciding with his thoughts. “You and I share the same magic, but yours feels like a child’s. Unless you have been sheltered from using it all your life, I can only see one other option as to why you are so weak.”

Well, the guy didn’t beat around the bush. Akaashi was even more stunned now, not a clue what to say. What did he mean, share the same magic? How did he know his abilities were fresh and far from mastered?

“That confirms it,” Sakusa muttered to himself, and Akaashi’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Are you… reading my thoughts?”

Sakusa didn’t answer right away, shaking his head as he scoffed. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked Akaashi up and down, and Akaashi had never felt this… exposed. Like he was stuck in one of those dreams where you’re naked in a crowd and your feet are stuck in cement and everyone laughs while you trip face first. “So you’re not completely useless.”

This was not the fun, mysterious adventure Akaashi hadn’t been promised. “Why did you bring me here? To insult me? Who are you?”

“I’ll do this simple since you seem to know nothing,” Sakusa sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. Was he always this condescending? “I’m a Rogue, too. You could feel my presence because users of the same magic can recognise each other. I’m also a trained assassin, hence this place. And I can read your thoughts, because I’ve trained my magic to the furthest extent I could. There is nothing I can’t heighten.”

For once Akaashi had gotten more answers than his questions required. A user of his type. He had no idea how much this ability could grow when properly managed, but Sakusa’s explanation was not far fetched; more times than he could count he had been able to tell how his friends were feeling without having a clue of their facial expressions. To take this even further and plunge into souls was pretty fascinating to learn about.

This ability had more perks than he had imagined. Maybe following this grumpy guy around wasn’t such a bad deal, if Akaashi could learn from him.

“But you, you’re angry,” Sakusa continued, taking Akaashi aback. “Not that you think angrily. Or wish harm upon those who cross you. But rather, there’s something you haven’t gotten rid of, something you’ve pushed down instead of discarding.”

Now, this was not something he wanted to delve into. Not here, not now, not with him. His past issues were of the past, and he would speak on in on his own terms. This wasn’t relevant. Why even bring it up? He was fine, now. Therapy had helped. Bokuto had helped, too. He’d been fine for years now. Why stir the pot? Why rummage through his mind like this, unauthorized, into the weakest part of his own self? Was he trying to get a rise out of him? No, it wouldn’t work. Akaashi wasn’t going to fall for it, as much of a low blow as this was.

“I didn’t come here to be dissected like a lab rat, so cut to the chase.”

“See?” Sakusa taunted him, shaking his head. “But it’s not a bad thing. You have anger, and you want to become more than what you are. Correct?”

Akaashi wasn’t sure where this was going, but he nodded.

Sakusa took a few steps backwards, nearing the wall of weapons. “I say we use those to make you into a fighter,” he said, extending his arm to the side as if to show off his armory. “You want, no, _need_ to feel like you can do your part. I’m offering you a way. You’re not here long, but I can work with that.”

So, to sum this up, a stranger with extreme magical and physical abilities, who could kill him in a second if he wanted, was offering Akaashi, some guy with three day old magic in his veins, free sword fighting lessons? In exchange for… nothing?

“This is weird,” Akaashi let out. There must have been a trap. Yes, he was quick to throw around that word these days, but better safe than sorry. This was definitely fishy.

“Very little humans would gouge out their eyes to gain magic. You are weird,” Sakusa retorted, and Akaashi had to concede. He wasn’t proud of that one either.

Sakusa grabbed the sword he had been inspecting earlier from the wall, twirling it around a few times. Then, in one swift motion, he pointed his weapon at Akaashi’s neck. This was about to get real. “Now, will you fight me with that little stick and dagger of yours, or will you walk up here and pick your poison?”

※

Sakusa’s teaching was rough. It was either of very few words or none at all, spat at him like daggers while he repeated the same movements over and over, movements Akaashi couldn’t keep up with. Sakusa didn’t care that he had never held a blade in his life; he would not hold back, only at the last possible second. Had this master swordsman not been in perfect control of his movements, Akaashi could have been killed a hundred times already.

But Akaashi wasn’t giving up. As much as he kept falling, he stood back up. He avoided Sakusa’s blade pretty well already, his senses acutely aware of his opponent’s motions, and he managed his best to follow and move as needed. A choreography he was adapting to with every new beat. But when the enemy possessed the same advantage he did, he had no higher ground. And so he kept falling, failing, taking a breath, and getting back up.

He was getting exhausted, but the movements were slowly ingraining in his muscles. The surprise of the blade sliding against another was gone, getting used to the feeling with each new swish, and while he may have still been a very shitty fighter, at least he was trying. At least he was learning. And maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t be completely useless when the time to fight would come.

“If we had more months, I could make you into a fine warrior,” Sakusa chuckled as Akaashi laid on the flood, completely worn down and out of breath.

“Yeah, I don’t think this is for me,” he let out, still panting. The floor was so fresh and cool. He could lay there for hours. “But thanks.”

Sakusa walked towards the weapon wall, replacing his sword carefully. “You’re still terrible. You’ll only really be at an advantage if you meet a beginner. You lack all proper technique and barge into swings with sheer force only. But other than that, you’re not so bad,” he insulted-praised, but Akaashi was content with that. He knew he was lacking, he had known for a long time. What Sakusa had really given him wasn’t skill, but rather, hope. “For a blind guy.”

“Not funny,” Akaashi said, his stomach growling as he sat up. They had been at this for too long and he was terribly hungry, having probably missed lunch by a good few hours; he should get moving by now.

He got on his feet and handed Sakusa the borrowed sword, but the man raised a hand as if to stop him. “Keep it. I have many. I’ll bring you a sheathe.”

Was Sakusa joking? He had no track record of making jokes, but this sure felt like one. “What, really? You don’t have to do this,” Akaashi contested, but Sakusa was already making his way out of the room into a little annex.

He didn’t know what to make of this, other than the fact magic users were overwhelmingly nice to him. Kenma, shy and introverted, had offered him help without a second thought after mere minutes of knowing each other. Kuroo, who had never heard of Akaashi, was taking him to a city plagued by a warlock just for the hell of it (and for Kenma, mostly for Kenma). Oikawa, giving him something to cover his scars despite Akaashi having said a total of one word to him. Now Sakusa, possibly the most dangerous man he had ever met, giving him a sword for free.

Why couldn’t Tsukishima be that nice? Just once would be enough.

Then, realisation dawned upon him. Akaashi hadn’t told anyone he was leaving. He hadn’t even called his job for an extension. Tsukishima usually came to his apartment once every two days ever since his breakdown, which meant he must have noticed his disappearance by now. And he hadn’t brought his phone, because Kenma had told him beforehand the signals didn’t work under these villages’ protection, much to the gamer’s dismay.

Well. Uh. That would be quite the mess to deal with once he came back.

The sound of footsteps interrupted his thoughts, but not from the direction Sakusa had taken. Someone was walking up the steps towards the dojo, and before Akaashi had a chance to worry about who the intruder might be, they slid open the panel doors and huffed as they got in.

“There ya are!” The unmistakable voice of Atsumu rang through the room. “Yer friends are going crazy trying to find ya.”

Looked like Akaashi had forgotten, again, to tell his friends where he went off. He sighed, exasperated at his own self. They were being all secretive around these people for his sake, and that was how he repaid them, by disappearing and possibly making them think the worst had happened?

Fuck, he hoped Tsukishima wouldn’t be mad for too long. “Sorry. Sakusa was training me.”

“Yea, I figured,” Atsumu bragged, tapping lightly at his temple. “After a few hours. Still, pretty smart of me. Yer welcome.”

Atsumu seemed to be the restless type, always trying to grab the room’s attention. He had the confidence for sure, and he seemed to be a good guy, despite the loud mouth. But when the crowd to please was Akaashi, his comebacks fell a bit flat. Those last sentences kind of sounded like he was having a stroke, if Akaashi were honest.

On the other hand, the person coming out of the annex was pretty much Atsumu’s opposite. Trying to be one with the shadows, barely giving into any kind of social activities, never making any type of jokes, or any comments at all. Still, Atsumu straightened up at the sight of Sakusa, and Akaashi could tell the newcomer was livening up, his heart pumping just a little harder.

“Hey, sugarbear!”

“I am standing next to multiple weapons, Miya, watch your mouth if you don’t want to be butchered,” Sakusa threatened with more passion than Akaashi had ever heard coming from his mouth. He handed Akaashi the sheathe with a small bow of the head, which Akaashi mirrored.

“Omi-omi, yer so mean to me,” Atsumu whined, a grown adult man. “But that’s kinda hot.”

“Why are you here,” Sakusa deadpanned, slamming down any attempt at flirting Atsumu was throwing his way. By the looks of it, this was frequent behavior.

“Oh, yea. He needs to go back asap or his little blonde friend might blow up this town,” Atsumu informed them. “Apparently the guy stole potions from an alchemist, and he’s dead serious about destroying everything in his way. Well, I think. I might have misheard.”

A lot of things to unpack here, like the claim of very unnecessarily aggressive measures, but something else, much more trivial, bothered Akaashi. Blonde? Who, Kenma? Kenma had black hair the last time he saw him, working at the convenience store. When had he become blonde? And why on Earth did he steal potions from Oikawa?

“I’ll leave, then,” Akaashi said, but didn’t move an inch as he realised something unfortunate. He scratched the back of his head, already embarrassed. “Uh. Can one of you walk me back?”

“Sure,” Sakusa volunteered before Atsumu could interject. Akaashi would be lying if he didn’t feel a pang of relief; he knew he would have never been able to hold a conversation with that guy. “We won’t be long, Atsumu.”

“Fine. I’ll miss you, Omi-kun.”

“I won’t. Goodbye.”

Akaashi sheathed his sword and grabbed the staff he had left by the door, ready to go. Sakusa broke off the silent staring contest he had with Atsumu and came by his side, not looking back.

“By the way, love the blindfold, man,” Atsumu addressed Akaashi, much to the latter’s dismay. “Shame ya can’t color-coordinate yer outfit for shit.”

Akaashi didn’t even have the time to get offended, Sakusa already out of the door. He fastened his pace to join the man before he could get any further, although he had no reason to be scared about Sakusa leaving him behind. Akaashi really needed to work on trusting people more, instead of thinking the world was against him.

“We’ve said this more than once today, but sorry about him,” Sakusa apologised, shaking his head as they joined the stone streets Akaashi hadn’t missed. “Can’t believe he’s my boyfriend.”

Uh. Um. This was most definitely unexpected, but Akaashi didn’t have time to unpack any of it, Sakusa changing the subject like he hadn’t dropped this massive, questionable bomb on him.

“Anyway. What you need most now is to practice your stance,” he recommended, squeezing in as much teaching as he could in their last moments together. “Good posture and positioning is important if you don’t want to lose your balance. If you lose balance, it’s over.”

“Why did you help me?” Akaashi cut him off. He knew Sakusa had good intentions with his suggestions, but if they had no more time, this is what Akaashi wanted most to know. “You obviously don’t like to be around people. I assume it’s worse if they’re new,” he said, genuinely wondering. Why had Sakusa bothered to help him, out of anyone? Why did anyone try to help him out at all?

Sakusa didn’t answer, the two turning a few corners in silence. Then, “Maybe you’re worth helping. Just that. Maybe that’s why strangers flock to you even when they don’t know you. Ever thought about that?”

No, he hadn’t. He had thought people helped him out of pity more than anything. Out of worth? He didn’t feel very worthy of anything. He complained most of the time, was in a sour mood all the time, driven only by the need to see Bokuto again. These attributes weren’t noble.

Unless, this was never really about him. People latching onto him because of what he represented, rather than was. As much as he was stubborn, it also meant he stood his ground. As much as he was unprepared, he still dived into the unknown without hesitation. As much as he was naïve to think everything would go his way, his driving force remained love above all.

Maybe. Or maybe, he didn’t understand what Sakusa meant at all. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Sakusa exhaled, loud enough to be intended. “If this doesn’t satisfy you, I do have another reason,” he said. “Three years ago, the warlock came to my village. Burned everything down. I was lucky to be out of town with my father and my cousin, but my mother wasn’t so lucky,” Sakusa shared, his voice laced with regret. “I know where you’re going, and why. It would bring shame to my name if I didn’t try to help out someone willing to fight for something I wasn’t able to.”

As much as he knew how dangerous this trip was, Akaashi hadn’t faced the reality of it all just yet. Words thrown in the air without understanding the implications behind them. Warlocks and wizards still somewhat surreal to Akaashi. Except it wasn’t just fantasy anymore; the magic was real, the people were real, this was all painfully real. The danger, the death, too.

Blood would be spilled once they would reach Fukurodani. Blood was being spilled while they were still on the way. Blood had been spilled long before Akaashi had ever known about this hidden world. If he hadn’t realised until Sakusa had to spell it out for him, it was definitely setting in now.

Sakusa could have flipped him off. Bokuto had been the one to piss off this warlock in the first place, according to more and more people around him, and with his mind reading abilities, Sakusa must have known exactly who Akaashi was in the first place. Sakusa could have blamed him, blamed them both, and refused to help. But despite all of it, he had chosen not to act upon impulse, upon anger, and instead let Akaashi in.

Akaashi could learn much more from him than sword tricks. “Come with us,” he said, the words slipping off his tongue with ease, as if it were the most rational thought in the world. “It won’t hurt to have someone like you join the fight.”

“I have orders to stay put. Believe me, I would have been there already if I could,” Sakusa declined. Akaashi frowned. Bound by orders? Sakusa seemed unstoppable, in his eyes. Could this be Kita’s doing? How much influence did that man even hold?

Sakusa stopped walking; analysing his surroundings, Akaashi could tell they had reached the onigiri shop. He would have liked to talk with Sakusa a little more, but he needed to tell Kenma he was fine before the healer would allegedly set the city on fire.

“The warlock won’t stop until he has his hands on your man,” Sakusa said, his hand hovering over Akaashi’s shoulder. He seemed hesitant to pat it and put his arm down instead, but Akaashi understood the gesture nonetheless. “Many depend on this victory. I know you won’t be able to do much, but I’ll cheer for you all.”

Akaashi muttered a small thank you, grateful for everything Sakusa had done for him in such a short time. The man nodded in acknowledgement and turned around, walking away without looking back.

There was one thing left for Akaashi to do; he opened the door to the small shop, the sweet smell making his stomach grumble once more. His two friends were sitting at the table he had left earlier, Kuroo’s arm around Kenma’s shoulder, the smaller boy leaning into his chest. But as they heard the door open Kenma’s head rose up, jumping to his feet and meeting Akaashi in the middle. Akaashi couldn’t tell what had happened in his absence, but it was obvious Kenma was visibly shaken up by the whole ordeal.

Kenma stared Akaashi down, lingering over the sword he was holding. He took a few deep breaths, unclenching his fists. “Don’t do that again.”

Akaashi put down his sword and staff on the nearest table and approached Kenma carefully, bringing him into a hug. Kenma was stiff at first, but his arms circled Akaashi’s waist with ease, holding on even tighter.

“I’m sorry, Kenma. I’ll be better.”

※

Kita had been generous enough to offer them a place to stay, right above the shop in Atsumu’s apartment while he was staying the night at Sakusa’s. Akaashi had taken some food upstairs while Kenma and Kuroo ate dinner with the Dark Foxes, not feeling up to explaining himself, or talking to anyone in general. He was worn out from his training, and frankly, a bit wary of these people, as much as they had given him no reason to. Bad habits.

Kenma joined him sooner than expected, also exhausted, telling him Kuroo had gone out to buy some supplies. From what Akaashi had heard, the bunch had talked for hours until Kita offered them lunch, but when Kenma went outside to bring him in, only then did they notice his disappearance. Akaashi also learned they had searched all around the city and eventually came back in hopes someone would bring him back, hence why his friends were in the shop when he got in. And no, Kenma had never threatened to blow up anything, that was just Atsumu. Although Kenma had definitely stolen some potions from Oikawa.

Kenma wasn’t mad at Akaashi, but the latter still felt a bit awkward about putting his friend in such a situation. He wasn’t sure how to start a conversation after he had fumbled the ball this bad, but luckily for him, Kenma spoke up first.

“Kita gave me this book today. About advanced healing techniques,” he said, handing Akaashi a small leather bound book. He flipped it open, realising too late how pointless it would be. The paper was nice to the touch, he supposed. “Some of them are only theories, but it’s all interesting.”

“Any of them catch your eye?” Akaashi asked him as he gave back the book.

“There’s this one theory about bringing someone back to life,” Kenma started, flipping through the pages. “A pure energy transfer, from one person to a recently deceased other, but it would have to be a massive amount. Like, the entire energy someone possesses, thrown into someone else. Which would mean the person giving their energy would die instead, I think. Which I don’t think is physically possible, unless they’d have like a surplus or something, I guess. It’s all theory.”

“Wow. That’s, uh, something,” he tried sounding enthusiastic, for Kenma’s sake. He really didn’t know any of this stuff. Smile and nod was all he could do, although it was definitely not enough. “Listen, I’m–”

“Don’t apologise. Really,” Kenma cut him off, understanding where he was going. “It’s okay. You’re here now.”

To be shut down in his attempt didn’t make him feel any less guilty, but he would respect Kenma’s wishes. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if Kenma really was okay with it, or if he was trying to bury his feelings by pretending the events of the evening had never happened.

Something must have happened. Kenma may have been a secretive person, Akaashi could read through him as much as the opposite were possible. “Did something happen? While you guys were searching for me,” he had to ask.

“Nothing. We walked around,” Kenma replied with a shrug. He got back to his book, flipping a few pages, but Akaashi wasn’t letting him off the hook yet. They both waited for the other to fill in the growing silence between them, and slowly, Kenma cracked. “I kind of panicked at one point. Just a little. But Kuroo… brought me to my senses. It was nothing, really.”

There it was. Akaashi had found it peculiar, coming back to Kenma curled into Kuroo’s chest when less than twenty four hours prior they had gotten into one of the most awkward fights Akaashi had ever witnessed.

“Can I ask… what does Kuroo mean to you?” Akaashi pressed a little more. If now was a time where Kenma felt a bit more comfortable with opening up, Akaashi couldn’t pass up that chance to get a few more answers.

“Kuroo?” Kenma repeated, as if the word were foreign on his tongue, testing it out as if it were his first time saying it. “Kuroo is… Kuroo.”

Akaashi had known Kenma liked Kuroo to an extent, but it seemed to run deeper than he had thought. To answer in such a way, unable to compare a person to anything but themselves, when all their characteristics and qualities melt into one, into a whole…

Let’s just say Akaashi had described Bokuto as ‘Bokuto’ more than once to people, people who had scrunched up their noses in confusion and told him he was too far gone. Even if Akaashi was never going to understand what exactly being ‘Kuroo’ meant to Kenma, he knew exactly what Kenma tried to convey.

“When I first met him, in Nekoma, he called me Kenma. I had never seen him before, I hadn’t even introduced myself to him. So I thought he was creepy, and asked him to call me Kozume,” he continued, to Akaashi’s surprise. “He didn’t turn out to be that bad, but he still deserved it. He wasn’t bad at all.”

Kenma closed his book, and took a deep breath. “He was the only one to come see me in the human realm after I got banished,” he disclosed, staring at the wall. “I kept contact with people through letters, like Kita, but he was the only one who ever came to visit in person. Sure, his magic made it easier, but. He could have done like everyone else. He could have.”

The story Kenma told was bittersweet, his tone vulnerable almost, but Akaashi frowned at his words. “You were… banished?”

Kenma nodded, turning his head towards Akaashi. “Theft. Breaking and entering, too. Mostly theft,” he said, and a lot more things made a lot more sense. “It was in place only for two years. But when the ban lifted… I never went back. It didn’t feel like people had missed me much anyway. And there are no video games in Nekoma, so.”

“You never missed your family? Your friends?” Akaashi asked.

Kenma shrugged. “Not really. I’m not a people person much. Kuroo was enough.” Even Akaashi couldn’t make this up; he wondered if Kenma was hearing himself when he said these things, so blatantly covered in affection, only then to pretend Kuroo was ‘an acquaintance’.

Kenma was exasperating, in the most endearing way possible. But if this was the way Kenma wanted to live, Akaashi wouldn’t interfere.

But while they were on the subject of Kenma’s friends… “By the way, what’s Kita’s deal?” He wondered out loud, the one thing that had been on his mind all day.

What was the purpose of having a secret organisation here, hiding behind an onigiri shop, and what exactly were their activities? They had an assassin in their ranks, after all, and many more members Akaashi ignored the strengths of. Far from simple fun and games. Then again, maybe groups like these were common in those magical villages, but Akaashi wouldn’t know.

“It’s really not that bad. They help protect their neighbourhood. Citizens can come to them with their issues and they try to resolve it. The dark vibe is mostly for aesthetics,” Kenma explained. This was what he had been worried about all this time? “And Kita calls the shots, decides what’s worth doing. They respect him a lot, that’s all.”

“Oh,” Akaashi let out, too taken aback to formulate a real sentence. “That was misleading.”

“That was the goal,” Kenma replied, and Akaashi could feel the smirk in his words. How annoying. “Your turn now. I want to ask questions too.”

“Sure. Fire away,” he consented anyway.

“How did you meet Bokuto?”

Akaashi had expected the question to be about what he had done during the day, where he went, or why he had a sword. He didn’t think Kenma would be interested in his love life — although it was one of the main reasons they were here in the first place, when he thought about it.

“I was in college when I first met him,” he began, a small smile making its way up his lips. “My first impression was that he looked really lost. He would just roam around campus, never go inside the buildings. I thought it was weird. But he looked pretty harmless. And hot, so.”

Years later, Bokuto had told him why he had been on this campus when he didn’t even attend in the first place. He had been trying to find a job in the area because the first time he walked by the uni, he noticed someone running to class, someone ‘ _so incredibly pretty, I thought I saw an angel_ ’, and he thought he’d have better chances at meeting them this way.

But Bokuto had been so cryptic when telling his story, Akaashi had to ask for clarification on who he was talking about. It was Akaashi, of course, but Bokuto had forgotten to mention it, thinking it was obvious. Akaashi pinched his cheek, and kissed it afterwards.

“One time I went out with my friend, and he was there at the bar. He bumped into me and apologised, and I kind of froze when I saw him up close. My friend caught on and pestered me so much I ended up leaving. But he didn’t let this go even days later, and so one day, we were playing with a volleyball in the courtyard and Bokuto happened to be walking by. So my friend threw the ball in his direction to force me to go pick it up, but he hit Bokuto in the face instead.”

To this day, Tsukishima was claiming ‘credit’ for getting them together. Both Akaashi and Bokuto refuted all claims, telling him life would have always put them each other’s way, no matter the circumstances, no matter how long it could have taken. Which was usually enough to make Tsukishima shut up, too disgusted by their antics to add fuel to the fire.

“He asked me out at the infirmary. His nose was still bleeding. I had never even talked to him. But I said yes,” he wrapped up the story, unable to forget how Bokuto’s golden eyes were sparkling when Akaashi had agreed. A sparkle only for him, stars in his eyes as they looked at each other, but Akaashi firmly believed the star of the room was always Bokuto himself.

From the beginning, Bokuto had felt a little unreal. Little did Akaashi know, Bokuto had been out of this world in more ways than one. “I think I get now why he seemed so out of place at the time. I was missing the context. I don’t think I know the full story yet, but some things are clearing up.”

If Akaashi had done the math correctly, they must have met a little after Bokuto had left the magic realm. He must have been terribly alone back then, unsure on how to navigate this whole new world. He must not have had the chance to meet a Kenma or a Kuroo to guide him, if all he did was walk around by himself in the same courtyard every day. Akaashi would need to ask him how he even managed to survive.

More trivially, this also explained why Bokuto always asked him to drive them to their dates; there were neither cars nor driving lessons in the magic realm. One time, Bokuto tried keeping the place they were going a secret, but since Akaashi was driving, the purpose was defeated pretty easily. It was still a very nice date. An observatory in the countryside, where they spent the entire night pointing out constellations, laying under the stars. And making out, lots of making out.

Bokuto was one night away. One night, and they would be together again.

“You look happy talking about him,” Kenma remarked, snapping him back to reality. Akaashi’s smile faltered, but the warmth in his chest didn’t.

Akaashi had never been particularly unhappy before meeting Bokuto. His life had always been remarkably average, apart from the occasional bumps in the road. But once Bokuto had made him way into Akaashi’s life, shown him exactly what it meant to smile and laugh and love without restraint, he had reached a new level of happiness he had never thought possible.

And he never wanted to go back to the before he once knew, the passiveness, moving from day to day to the same rhythm. Never wanted to go back to a life where Bokuto wasn’t there with him, in every nook and cranny, in every single part of Akaashi.

“I’m seeing him again tomorrow,” Akaashi said, more to himself. The thought alone was enough to spawn thousands of butterflies in his stomach. “Nothing could make me happier.”

※

Fukurodani was in flames.

How much of it, Akaashi couldn’t tell. But the smell so strong, gripping, and the heat of the flames sticking to his skin were more than enough to know disaster had struck, and hard. That, mixed with how the road under his feet felt full of unnatural bumps caused by destruction, and the way Kuroo couldn’t help but mumble “ _What the hell_ ” under his breath as he pulled Kenma and Akaashi into the nearest alleyway in an attempt to seek shelter, were also undeniable signs of the terrible events that had transpired here.

They had ended up leaving a little before noon, accidently sleeping in late. Although Akaashi was growing restless at the thought of having lost a few hours, he wasn’t as bothered as the prior morning, knowing this time, he would definitely see Bokuto by the end of the day. They ate breakfast as fast as they could, and Kuroo gifted them cloaks he had purchased the night before in order for them to stand out a little less. This was mostly directed at Akaashi; his choice of clothing was not only very telling of his human origins, but they also rarely matched — which was a fair critic. But this way, he’d also better hide his sword and surprise potential attackers, so he couldn’t complain.

Akaashi let go of his friends as they lined up against the wall, his hands hovering around the grip of his sword. He still didn’t feel very confident in his fighting abilities, but he had lent his staff to a weaponless Kenma, so he’d have to make do with his remaining option. Kuroo took out a knife from his boot with his free hand, the other still holding Kenma’s, and threw a look into the empty street.

“We stay close, and be careful avoid stray spells,” Kuroo took charge, making up a plan on the spot. “I’ll take us to the Great Hall. I’m sure there will be people there.”

Akaashi nodded and they went back to the street, running along the wall, pausing at crossroads to make sure they weren’t being ambushed. He could hear a lot of yelling, louder as they got deeper into the heart of the city, and a lot of indistinguishable sentences, presumably spells. What scared Akaashi the most, however, were the roars. Dangerous animals, or creatures Akaashi didn’t even know the existence of?

And, closer to them, footsteps running in their direction. Akaashi grabbed Kenma’s sleeve and both his friends stopped, turning towards him, and Akaashi put a finger over his lips to silence them. The footsteps were coming from the alley behind them, and if his calculations were correct…

The stranger joined them in the street the second Akaashi unsheathed his sword, pointing it at the stranger’s throat before they could make any attempt on their group. They raised their hands in surrender, far too quickly to be an enemy, and only then did Akaashi notice they were unarmed, apart from a tiny wooden stick that had dropped out of their hand in surprise. A wizard?

“Wait,” Kuroo urged, getting closer to take a good look at the stranger. “Holy shit, it’s Konoha!”

“Kuroo Tetsurou? What the hell are you doing here?” The stranger, Konoha, asked, and Akaashi retreated his sword. A friend of Kuroo. He shouldn’t have been surprised by that, if the guy had made several trips here in the past.

“Delivery for Bokuto,” Kuroo answered, Akaashi frowning. “Where is he?”

“We’re fighting the warlock’s minions in the marketplace,” Konoha explained, picking up his stick. Akaashi wasn’t calling it a wand just yet; he was waiting to see it in action. The ground seemed to rumble a little while the man spoke, but it must have been coming from said marketplace. “They’d been silent the last two days, you guys really came in at the worst time.”

Akaashi heard a quiet growling sound, but despite its faintness, it felt a lot closer than it should have been. Then, another rumble, which his friends felt as well. “What were you running from, again?” He asked as a weirdly shaped mass entered his radar, one Akaashi did not intend to come across.

“Oh, yeah. We need to go,” Konoha remembered, blasting off, and the trio followed suit.

It still wasn’t easy for Akaashi to understand his surroundings out in the open air, but if he stayed behind his friends he could listen to their footsteps to guide him. A couple times they abruptly changed direction and had Akaashi almost crash into a wall, disoriented for a few seconds, but Kenma caught on and traded Kuroo’s hand for Akaashi’s.

They seemed to have lost the unknown creature chasing them, but they were now entering what Akaashi supposed to be the marketplace, where many bodies were gathered and multiple voices shouted various spells. Was Bokuto one of them? Oh my god– was Bokuto actually there?

Akaashi couldn’t make out his voice from the various shouts. He could hear his own heartbeat getting faster at the simple thought of being this close to Bokuto again, but nothing else that could help him figure out if he was here or not. There were too many people around, and if he wasn’t mistaken, he could faintly tell apart some more up in the air above him. What had they run into?

He didn’t have a lot of choices here. He could call out Bokuto’s name, but that might distract him if he were in the middle of a fight, or attract too much attention and get his small group attacked. Or, he could get in there with his sword and strong will, get close enough to the fighters, and try until he felt a familiar presence. It could work, if only he knew how to distinguish enemies from allies.

“Kenma. Is there… a piece of clothing warlocks have that can tell me who the bad guys are?” Akaashi asked in a hushed tone, their group retreating behind one of the stands that had been miraculously left untouched.

Kenma took a quick look over the stand, observing the scene a few seconds, then squatted back down. “The Fukurodani warriors have cloaks like ours, and their clothes are much more tactical. The warlocks’ are more robe-like, less tight.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Akaashi thanked, getting up and running towards the scene, ignoring the many shouts calling his name. Was he being very stupid? Yes. Did he care? Not in the slightest. But most of all, did he know what he was doing? Also no.

Akaashi walked through the marketplace with his sword held tight, avoiding the bodies as swiftly as he could while trying not to get targeted. His strategy as of now was to try and get close to the Fukurodani fighters, get an estimate of their body mass and form, listen to their grunts as they defended themselves from spells, and analyse how much they did or didn’t match Bokuto’s height or voice. He thought it would have been easy, Bokuto being a lot taller than the average population, but soon figured these people were _all_ tall, which was the least ideal scenario he could have possibly imagined.

But it was too late; he had turned on his heels too many times, had gone too far out of his friends’ reach to go back to safety. And he could feel someone’s footsteps barging towards him, accompanied by the faint sound of flowing fabric all around them, and Akaashi knew he’d have to fight.

As they got closer, Akaashi could tell the incoming enemy had a sword thicker than his own, but the way they were charging told him it were just for show. Akaashi braced himself and stood still, and as the enemy’s sword was about to touch his skin he slid to his left, raising his leg and making them trip and fall. If the rest of them were as idiotic as this one, Akaashi might stand a chance.

Someone else was running towards him now, their fluid movements telling Akaashi they meant business this time. What they held was shorter, perhaps a machete, but he didn’t get the time to assess with exactitude as their blades met, the clink of the metal still surprising to his ears. The opponent lashed out in all directions and Akaashi managed to counter every hit, but he wasn’t gaining advantage, instead being pushed back. But just as he was about to collide into someone, the warlock was propelled into the air, Akaashi losing track of them instantly.

Akaashi almost hadn’t noticed the person behind him, only at the last moment feeling a presence slowly getting closer as he faltered. In open air like this, Akaashi relied mostly on sound to understand his surroundings, get an approximate number of people in the space close to him with either their footsteps or heartbeats. This person hadn’t moved until Akaashi had gotten too close, which explained the lack of footsteps, but it didn’t explain why Akaashi hadn’t caught on their heartbeat.

Then, he realised; they had none.

Was this a bad guy? They didn’t seem dressed like one, fabric tighter around their body just like Kenma had described. If Akaashi were correct, they were the one who cast the spell pushing the enemy away in the first place. An ally, then?

One way to know was ask. “What are you?” He said, a little harsh in retrospect, but if they were indeed an enemy, he couldn’t risk being too curt.

The stranger didn’t reply, Akaashi feeling their arm heat up instead, charged in electricity as they closed their fist. Before Akaashi could think whether he was the target of such a power, the stranger wrapped up their other arm around Akaashi’s shoulders and brought him closer, discharging a powerful bolt into an incoming attacker.

Pressed up against their chest, Akaashi’s breath caught up in his throat. Not out of fear, not out of surprise, but rather at the absolute shock of being able to feel a heartbeat in their ribcage.

One that matched the beat of his own.

“The love of your life, I still hope.”

Akaashi hadn’t been able to distinguish a heartbeat, hidden underneath his own. But this voice, unmistakable, one Akaashi would always hear in a crowd amongst thousands, this one, he could never miss.

Bokuto was here. Bokuto was here, and he was holding Akaashi, Akaashi was in his arms, this was Bokuto, this was real, this was fucking real.

Yet Akaashi couldn’t say a thing. Words stripped out of his mouth, throat dry, too many options fighting to roll off his tongue, but in the midst forgetting to let any win. Never in his life vocabulary had failed him this hard, when he had a million things to say, so much joy to share, so much anger kept inside threatening to spill.

So he settled with what he knew best. “Koutarou.”

Bokuto laughed, brushing Akaashi’s hair behind his ear. The gesture felt so familiar, so safe, Akaashi leaned in at the touch, Bokuto cupping his cheek. The cold metal of a ring on his fourth finger against Akaashi’s skin. Finally, after two weeks of uncertainty, days of endless worries, after a journey he had hardly believed to be real, Akaashi was home.

“My Keiji,” Bokuto whispered, and Akaashi wanted to melt right there and then.

But time was not on their side, a loud blast resounding nearby and breaking the bubble they had managed to create in the middle of the battlefield. This wasn’t the place for heartfelt reunions, and Akaashi knew as much, but didn’t want to let go, never wanted to let go. He had just gotten him back.

Footsteps ran closer to them, Akaashi recognising the small thuds of Kenma’s feet, Kuroo by his side. To his chagrin, Bokuto loosened his grip, his head turning in the direction of where his old best friend stood.

“Oya, Kuroo. Still got the same hair, huh,” he joked around, getting a muffled laugh out of Kuroo. “I’ll catch up later, but please take him away first?”

“Bokuto Koutarou, you’re a bastard and you owe me a million favours,” Kuroo let out without missing a beat, almost rehearsed. Then, “Happy to see you, bro.”

Akaashi reluctantly let Bokuto nudge him forward, his lover grabbing his hand at the last second to give it a small squeeze. “I’ll be fine. I promise,” he told Akaashi, and when Bokuto spoke like that, his voice tender only for him, Akaashi had to believe him.

Bokuto let go of his hand, walking away, until Akaashi could no longer feel him close.

※

The wait was unbearable.

They had been waiting in the Great Hall for hours now, Akaashi touching his watch every few minutes only to grow more and more anxious as time went by. An incredible amount of people had seeked refuge in the hall as well, which also meant too many different voices ringing in his head, too many different smells coming from the improvised kitchen area, and too many bodies around him, his skin itching at this oppressive sensation, feeling trapped in the masses.

Kenma had taken him to the furthest corner of the room as soon as they arrived, also uncomfortable in this crowd. He had tried to convince Kuroo to stay with them, but Kuroo had insisted he should try and go help the wizards, and so Kenma let him be. Akaashi could feel him grow antsy as well beside him, but neither had the capacity to start up a conversation right now, as much as they needed the distraction. Picking at his fingernails wasn’t enough to keep his mind from wandering about all the terrible things that could have been happening outside these walls.

Deliverance came in the form of the main door cracking open, the sound resounding across the room in a roar. Akaashi got to his feet and pulled Kenma up as a few claps and hoots greeted the fighters, which Akaashi took as a good sign. He’d still need personal confirmation, but this was already a relief.

They made their way through the crowd in record speed, Kenma leading a path so Akaashi wouldn’t have to bump into anyone on accident. Kenma’s pace slowed down as they approached the entrance, Akaashi assuming he had seen Kuroo already, but it didn’t stop him from continuing alone, grasping at clues, analysing his surroundings as fast he could. Why did all these wizards have to be so tall?

Then, he stopped. He felt it so much more now; the absence of heartbeat in one of the bodies, hidden in plain sight under his own. Bokuto had come back.

Akaashi frowned, standing in place. Over the hours he had spent moping in this hall, he had gotten way more time than necessary to think about what he wanted to say when they would meet again. The results hadn’t been all too positive.

“You,” Akaashi gritted. Bokuto took one step forward. Akaashi did not reciprocate.

Akaashi was angry. Akaashi had truly suffered through his absence, which may have been a strong word to use, but felt right nonetheless. Bokuto had left without a word, without a hint, erasing himself from everyone he once knew. Bokuto had left Akaashi alone to deal with the aftermath, an aftermath only Akaashi knew of, only Akaashi had to endure. Yes, he knew Bokuto had left for good reasons; but Akaashi had still had to go through it all, stuck in the dark. Akaashi hadn’t forgotten the sleepless nights, the paranoia when he started doubting Bokuto’s existence in the first place, the need to go drink his feelings away until he was numb to the entire world.

He had fucking left.

Akaashi took one step forward. “I am,” another step, “so mad at you right now.”

Bokuto stepped closer as well. “Oh, yeah?” He teased, and Akaashi knew the fucker was fighting off a smile.

Akaashi, another step. “You have no idea,” another step, close enough Akaashi could rest his forearms over Bokuto’s shoulder, bringing him closer, their noses touching, “how angry I am–”

Akaashi closed the gap with a kiss, Bokuto’s arms circling his waist like it were second nature as he kissed him back with the same hunger. Bokuto smelled of dirt and sand and rough edges in a way Akaashi had never known him before, but it only made him want more, breathless as he kissed him again and again with his fingers in his hair and their chest pressed against each other, beating at the same rhythm in a way the universe made clear enough they had always been meant to be with each other, no matter distance, time, or realm.

Because really, at the end of the day, what was there to be angry about anymore? Bokuto was here. Bokuto was alive, Bokuto still loved him, Bokuto was smiling and laughing against his lips and Akaashi wanted to hear nothing but this sound for the rest of his life. This Bokuto from Fukurodani was a new mystery for him to discover, and now that Akaashi was certain his lover was safe, well, that was just so fucking sexy of him.

“Slow down, slow down,” Bokuto laughed as his lips parted from Akaashi’s, their foreheads resting against each other’s. “You’re supposed to hate me.”

“I do. Don’t think you’re off the hook,” Akaashi couldn’t help but smile, stealing one last kiss while he still could. “We’re going to have a talk, I guarantee you.”

Bokuto patted his hair, bringing Akaashi into a hug. Bokuto’s hugs were always so comforting, so full of love and compassion when he held him, Akaashi’s breath caught up in his throat. A painful reminder of how much he had missed these embraces, missed him down to every fiber of his being. He could cry. He wouldn’t, not here, but every negative thing he had believed in the last two weeks were crashing down while Bokuto held him tighter, and Akaashi wasn’t sure he’d let go this time.

“I’m really happy to see you,” Bokuto whispered, muffled against Akaashi’s neck, the words only his to hear.

Akaashi was happy, too. For the first time in a long time. “Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me again, Koutarou.”

“Keiji,” Bokuto kissed his jaw, “I’m not going anywhere.”

※

Soon enough tables were set in the Great Hall, a dinner celebrating the day’s victory. This had been the first time they had fought off the warlock’s minion so quickly, the enemies retreating faster than usual, and the people of Fukurodani were more than relieved. Things were looking up, and although it would take them years to rebuild the village as it once was, this was still something worth feasting about.

As they waited for their food, Bokuto introduced Akaashi to all his warrior friends, most of them Spellcasters. A good majority went ‘oh’ as they realised who he was but asked no further questions, leading Akaashi to believe Bokuto had already told them a bunch about him already. Which was really cute, but he almost felt bad for the warriors, knowing his fiancé could get very passionate talking about something he liked and often forget to stop. Still cute, though.

Akaashi left him a bit of space when dinner was served, Bokuto wanting to catch up with Kuroo for a little bit. The two seemed very animated while talking, and it seemed whatever grudge Kuroo seemed to hold a few days ago was gone. They had a lot of stories to share ever since they lost contact, and Akaashi was happy to see Bokuto enjoy himself so much.

“You too were kind of disgusting back there,” Kenma remarked as they sat to eat. The healer had been talking with someone Bokuto had introduced as Washio earlier, who happened to be a Healer as well, and was only now joining Akaashi again.

“It’s okay, Kenma. You’ll find someone to be disgusting with in public, too.”

But the highlight of the dinner had definitely been when a bird flew in through the doors, loudly cawing, and morphed into a human the same way Ushiwaka had done two days ago. Akaashi had no time to be surprised before the newcomer opened their mouth to scream Bokuto’s name, and then, he was absolutely bewildered by the discovery of their identity.

“Hinata?” Akaashi got up, walking over to where Bokuto was seated and Hinata was running towards. Little Shouyou was a magic user, too? Right when Akaashi had thought he had seen it all.

“Shouyou-kun!” Bokuto got up as well, excitedly hugging his friend and raising him up from the ground. Hinata had been his little protégé ever since they had worked together during Bokuto’s brief waiter phase, the two of them becoming mischief buddies despite Hinata being a few years younger. Akaashi always liked Hinata, the younger a ray of sunshine every time they met. “I thought you were in Brazil? Why did you come here?”

“You always answer my emails really fast. So I got worried when I heard nothing for a week,” Hinata explained, Bokuto putting him back down. Only then did Hinata seem to notice Akaashi’s presence, letting out a small gasp. “Whoah, Akaashi’s here too! I didn’t know you were a magic user! What happened to your face?”

The elephant in the room, and Hinata had addressed it with all the grace and poise he was known not to possess. Akaashi was dumbstruck for a second, trying not to think about how oddly stiff Bokuto had become next to him, but offered Hinata a smile nonetheless.

“A long story. It’s nice to see you,” Akaashi said, ruffling his hair.

The rest of the dinner went by smoothly, Akaashi ignoring how Bokuto’s head would turn his way more frequently than before Hinata’s comment. As much as Bokuto must have dreaded explaining his story to Akaashi, the latter was also reticent in telling him how he lost his sight, the story of an idiot who barged into a plan with no backup out of pure desperation. And if anything, Bokuto might have been already blaming himself for it, despite not knowing how it came about. Akaashi didn’t want him to worry a single second. They deserved to be happy.

After the cleanup, Kenma and Kuroo left with Konoha, who volunteered to let them stay at his place while they were in town. Hinata ran after them although he hadn’t been invited, and Akaashi hoped Kenma wouldn’t mind too much, knowing how high energy Hinata was. Bokuto was finishing up saying goodbye to his friends now, which could only mean one thing now that he was done.

“Let’s go on a walk,” he said, offering his hand to Akaashi. “There’s somewhere I always wanted to take you.”

Akaashi took his hand without hesitation, but the ‘okay’ that followed wasn’t as confident. He had been waiting for so long to finally have a moment with Bokuto alone, but now that it was here, the thoughts he had managed to shove down were creeping back up one by one. What had Bokuto done in the past to warrant such an attack on his city? And how much had he lied to Akaashi?

No, he couldn’t think about that now. They’d enjoy a nice walk first, go to the place Bokuto had in mind, and then they could get down to business. Akaashi would stretch out the small moments of bliss for as long as he could.

“So, Keiji,” Bokuto started as they left the Great Hall, taking him through the streets of Fukurodani. “How did you even get a sword?”

Akaashi laughed. This was fine too. “I met an assassin in Inarizaki, he taught me some basics. People have been very nice to me,” he assured Bokuto before he could get any ideas. “I’ve been very blessed to find Kenma and Kuroo, too. Without them, I–” _would have still been moping in my room alone, unable to leave, unable to see anyone, wait for my downfall to slowly come_ “–I wouldn’t have found you again.”

_Stop it with the bad stuff_ , he had to remind himself again. That was in the past. He would never have to go through that again, thanks to them. He couldn’t make Bokuto worry. He was fine now. They were fine. What was he so stressed about?

“Yeah, Kuroo is the best,” Bokuto agreed, focusing on the good parts as well. He was doing the same thing Akaashi did, hoping to push back as much serious stuff as he could before they’d hit a wall and be forced to face themselves. “I didn’t expect to see him again. That was a great gift.”

“Was I not enough of a gift for you?” Akaashi teased with a smile.

Bokuto waved his free hand around, trying to backtrack. “Ah, no! You’re not just a gift to me! You’re even better than that.” He redeemed himself, then, “You’re my everything.”

Akaashi may have been stupidly in love with him beyond logic, he wanted to barf at this. “Even for you, this is ridiculously cheesy.”

“Well, I missed you,” Bokuto argued, bringing Akaashi’s arm up and kissing the back of his hand. “I have ten days worth of cheesy things to call you.”

Akaashi smiled. “Okay. I’ll take that.”

They seemed to be outside the city by now, the stone streets traded for the earth, walking amongst the trees. They must have been going up a hill, the ground only going up from what Akaashi could tell. There didn’t seem to be as much damage here, the air clearer here than in the dust-filled streets of Fukurodani, shaken up by the constant battles.

“When I was younger, I used to go where I’m taking you, when my parents scolded me for using spells,” Bokuto broke the silence. Akaashi had rarely ever heard him talk about his past, for reasons much clearer now, but this was welcome. “I’d always use them when I didn’t need to, or use the ones I had just learned even if they weren’t useful. I broke a lot of stuff in our house,” he chuckled at the memory.

Sounded about right. Bokuto always had a tendency for breaking mugs on accident, in their apartment. If Bokuto was feeling up to telling stories of his childhood now, Akaashi couldn’t wait to know more about baby Koutaro.

“When I grew up and stopped using spells for no reason, I’d come here to practice instead,” he said, his tone a little less cheerful now. Akaashi frowned. “I wanted to learn the complicated ones, but I couldn’t do them in my room. I wanted to be the best spellcaster in Fukurodani. The world, even.”

Akaashi had guessed wrong; Bokuto wasn’t telling him childhood anecdotes. This was his life story. Everything he hadn’t told Akaashi, Bokuto was jumping in now, breaking off their silent agreement to postpone the heavy parts for later. Later became now, and the time for confrontation couldn’t be held back any longer.

“As time went by, school became less and less useful. I knew all the spells we were doing, I knew the spells the years above me were doing, and by the end, I even knew more than the teachers did,” Bokuto chuckled at the last part, dry, unlike him. He held Akaashi’s hand tighter. “I had done all the research I could. I was on top of my game. But if I wanted to be the best, I didn’t want to settle with this. Not when I knew… there were even more.”

He paused, taking a deep breath. Loud exhale. “The ones that were dreaded by most. Those spells we called dark magic.”

Akaashi couldn’t say he had figured this out, but as his story progressed, the more it made sense, pieces falling into place. Why he ever got involved with a warlock in the first place. Bokuto was an overachiever, always polishing his skills and taking on some more. It didn’t matter what other people thought; if he liked something, he’d try it. 

If everyone had been a bit like Bokuto, maybe dark magic wouldn’t have been so dark, so feared, mysterious. Bokuto was an optimist, but Bokuto was unlike the world. And the world only had one Bokuto.

“I don’t know if saying I was curious is enough of an apology for those who were around me,” Bokuto continued, his breathing heavier. He couldn’t have said any louder how much he despised telling this story. Akaashi almost wanted him to stop. Almost. “My friends didn’t agree. Kuroo got mad at me. But I ignored them, and tried to find a way to learn those spells anyway. I left in search of a master, and that was when I met the warlock.

“He had heard about me. Can you believe it? I had gotten good enough to be noticed by someone with this much power,” he seemed enthusiastic at the memory, but the spark went away as quickly as it came by. “He took me in as soon as I arrived. Usually, disciples had to do… something… to prove their devotion, in exchange for the master’s learning, but he made an exception for me. He’d take me in now and I’d give him what he wanted later.”

Akaashi didn’t like the strategically placed pause, but he figured Bokuto was letting him choose whether he wanted to dive all the way in or stay content with ignorance.

If Bokuto thought whatever he was hiding would be enough for Akaashi to change how he felt about him, he was dead wrong. “What did he want?” Akaashi asked, jumping with him, the choice easy.

Although for Bokuto, it didn’t seem that simple. They walked in silence for a while, calculating his words not to misstep, before speaking out. “It’s… I didn’t do it, by the way! I could never. But… argh. Murder,” he revealed, but it sounded so… Bokuto-like, Akaashi could tell he wasn’t lying, about any of it.

Or was Akaashi perhaps too whipped? A question for another time. “It had to be the most important person in your life, too. Dark magic thrives off the tortured soul, the warlock said. And he wanted to know the people he was taking in were all for the cause,” he added, the last part strangely familiar to Akaashi.

“I learned as much as I could. I sneaked into his library to read his books. I got better and better, and he grew impatient. But I wasn’t going to kill my parents for that guy, or any of my friends, I wasn’t deranged like that. I just wanted to learn. So I bailed. Left to the human realm, where I knew he wouldn’t find me.”

Bokuto’s voice had gotten smaller as his story went on, but after another deep breath, it sounded almost hopeful again. “And he didn’t. I managed to live six of the best years of my life in peace. I was a bit bummed at first about not using magic anymore, but I found out soon enough I’d trade all the magic in the world to be with you,” he kept true to his word, throwing in another cheesy line for relief’s sake. Akaashi would have rolled his eyes. He smiled instead.

Bokuto stopped walking. Akaashi was confused for a second, then realised they had reached a small clearing, where the ground abruptly disappeared a few steps in front of them. They must have reached the top of the hill. The place Bokuto wished to show him. “Then, I received the letter.”

All traces of hope, gone again. “They’d found me. I don’t even know how, but the thought alone scared me to the bone. It said to come back to Fukurodani or else they’d make sure there would be nothing left. They’d take what I was supposed to give them all these years.”

His voice was barely above a whisper. Akaashi wanted nothing more but to erase the pain that had been gnawing at him all these years, years they spent side by side while Akaashi hadn’t had a single clue. Bokuto hadn’t done anything wrong. Morally, maybe a little, but still; this wasn’t fair, whichever way you looked at it.

Bokuto didn’t deserve to have the weight of a city placed on his shoulder, because of a dumb decision made years ago. “I should have expected it. I don’t know why I believed he wouldn’t come back, whether I was there or not. I shouldn’t have left so carelessly.”

Bokuto let his hand slip from Akaashi’s and he sat down, bringing his knees to his chest. “And I did the same thing again, didn’t I? Leaving without taking others into consideration.”

Akaashi had dreaded this part. He sat down next to Bokuto, as close as he physically could without touching him. If he had let go of his hand, Akaashi wouldn’t try anything to make him uncomfortable more than he already was. This part was hard for both of them.

“If they knew where I lived, what else did they know? I thought it would be best to erase everything before they could find anything else. And this way, no one would have to worry about me when I left.” His voice wavered, tensing up. “You wouldn’t have to worry about me. You’d be safe if you didn’t remember.”

Bokuto’s heartbeat unsynced for a second as he swallowed, trying to control his breath, but it soon fell back into place. How odd. But warm, in the knowledge their bodies recognised each other with so much familiarity, their hearts beat as one.

“I saved you for last. I didn’t want to do this. I… I’ve been through a lot of hard things, but this one felt by far the worst.” Bokuto confessed, resting his cheek on his knee. Akaashi was tempted to pat his hair, but held himself back. “And when I finally found the courage to do so, it… didn’t work. I tried and tried while you were sleeping, but you refused to forget.”

Now this was a surprising turn of events. Akaashi had thought Bokuto had originally wanted him to keep his memories, what they had shared together even if they were to never make new ones again; to learn Bokuto had been willing to get rid of everything made his insides twist. But to learn even his magic had been unable to make it a reality, to learn that magic could fail, was strangely comforting.

“Maybe you were just weak,” Akaashi said, nudging him in his side. _I’m glad_ , he hoped Bokuto heard instead.

Bokuto swayed to the side, bumping their shoulders together. _Me too_. “Maybe. Maybe I held back without knowing. But I prefer the idea of you being too stubborn to let me go. You’re just as intense as I am when you set your mind to something. See where that led you?”

Akaashi’s lips quirked up. The man had jokes now? “But your stubbornness only made it harder to go,” Bokuto continued, shifting the mood so suddenly, once again proving Akaashi had spoken too soon. “It was too late to reverse everything, and I didn’t want to leave you like this. Without even a goodbye. But the sun was already rising. I had to go.”

Minutes later Akaashi would wake up to an empty apartment. Minutes. Had he woken up minutes earlier, Bokuto might have told him everything. Might have stayed just a little longer, might have lied and said he had a family emergency, which wasn’t a lie in the first place. Might have gotten Akaashi to tell him good luck, and that he’d be waiting for his return eagerly. Might have stopped Akaashi from walking into a bar at night and have the course of his life changed forever.

Minutes.

If he lingered over the thought too long, Akaashi might lose it. Minutes.

“Keiji, I’ll never be sorry enough,” Bokuto raised his head up straight, looking directly at him. Akaashi turned his head his way, if only for show. He wished he could tell what Bokuto’s face said. Akaashi could read between all his lines. “I can’t imagine what you must have gone through. I wish I had been better, made better choices. If I could go back… If I had told you about this…”

Akaashi waited, but nothing else followed. Bokuto sighed, running a hand through his hair, and didn’t say a thing. He looked away — to take in the view, Akaashi supposed —, and then, slow, careful, the grass twisting up underneath him, turned his whole body to face Akaashi.

“Can I take off your blindfold?” Bokuto whispered, his words caught up in the wind. Akaashi’s heart skipped a beat.

His throat tightened, and all he could do was nod. More often than not, he was caught speechless, when it came to Bokuto. When they had met, the glimmer in Bokuto’s eyes enough to make him swallow his tongue. When Bokuto had popped the big question, and he forgot to answer for a whole minute. When they had found each other, back at the marketplace.

Bokuto’s hands reached out from both sides, untying the knot at the back of his head, and let the piece of fabric drop in Akaashi’s lap. Akaashi didn’t miss the small gasp he tried to smother too late. The unsynced heartbeat that took a little longer to fall into place.

Bokuto cupped his cheeks, his thumbs hovering over the scars that spread out from Akaashi’s eyes. Barely brushing, retracting his thumbs everytime they came in contact. Not quite touching, although they wouldn’t hurt if he did — Akaashi had pressed them down enough to know, alone in Seijoh.

Akaashi wanted to tell him they wouldn’t burn. But to Bokuto, they did, in a way beyond physical touch. If there was one thing Bokuto did best, it was blaming himself for the smallest of things gone wrong. One thing they had in common, scars of a bad choice itching at his fingertips.

“Koutarou. This was my decision,” Akaashi reminded him, a hopeless attempt, but if he had to repeat it everyday until Bokuto understood, he would.

“But you wouldn’t have made that decision if it wasn’t for me,” Bokuto argued as predicted, dropping his hands from Akaashi’s face. “If I had told you before–”

“Who says I wouldn’t have tried to do it anyway?” Akaashi grabbed Bokuto’s hands before they could get away, holding them in his lap. He wouldn’t have, but Bokuto didn’t need to know that. Although Akaashi didn’t like dishonesty, sometimes white lies worked best. “I’m getting used to it. There are parts that suck, yeah, but I’m getting better at it. I have people to help me. But the best thing about it is I get to be with you again. And I don’t regret it.”

Bokuto didn’t seem convinced, his head dropping. Dejected. Akaashi usually knew what to do when Bokuto started moping around like this, but usually, the cause wasn’t Akaashi. All he knew now was to hold his hands tight and hope his message would come across. Hope Bokuto would understand he couldn’t have done anything to prevent this. What was done was done.

“Kenma said they were pitch black,” Akaashi tried, putting on a smile. Humour always worked. This wasn’t particularly funny, but anything was better than letting him brew useless scenarios in his head.

Bokuto’s head raised up. “Yeah, they are,” he said, light, fond. “They reflect all the stars.”

All the stars. Akaashi looked up out of habit, then winced. Had time flown by so fast? He didn’t think it were nighttime already. Hours of the day were so hard to perceive anymore, they seemed almost futile. Except they weren’t, and tied down everything within reach. Couldn’t time stop, if only for tonight, if only for them? Would it be too much to ask?

Out of the blue, Bokuto chuckled. “This is where I wanted to bring you on our fifth date, actually. So I settled for the closest thing I could find,” he said, taking Akaashi by surprise. “It’s much prettier here. You can see the city underneath us, the lights are closing one by one. The clock tower used to be in the middle, but it’s kind of wrecked now. There are other mountains all around, the trees cover them all like a fuzzy blanket. The stars are out, and they’re getting brighter now.”

It took Akaashi a minute to realise what he was doing, but when it did, his breath caught up in his throat. Bokuto was describing the view to him. Telling him exactly what he was seeing, because Akaashi couldn’t. Making him picture it, so they could both enjoy the scenery even though it wasn’t possible anymore. Bokuto was trying to make the impossible possible again.

“The moon is out, just the tiniest crescent. It reflects in a tiny stream between this hill and the next one. It doesn’t make much light, but–”

“I love you.”

Akaashi was overwhelmed with emotion. He really did, hadn’t stopped for a second. Had never loved anyone as much as he loved Bokuto, and always made sure to let him know. But seeing the effort Bokuto had been willing to make as soon as he understood Akaashi’s condition, the feeling overtook him once more, perhaps even stronger, running off Akaashi’s tongue like waves on the shore, unable to be controlled, the brute force of nature. Akaashi loved Bokuto. Akaashi wouldn’t stop loving Bokuto.

And Bokuto loved him back, loved him just as much, even without words, only with a touch. There was nothing he was more certain of.

Bokuto took a deep breath. “I made you angry, didn’t I?” He asked, intertwining their fingers, then raising Akaashi’s hands up. “Your fingers are all messed up.”

Were they? Akaashi couldn’t see the damage. He had always had the bad habit of picking at his fingers when he was upset, or thinking too much — which now that he mentioned, was exactly what he had been doing nonstop for the past two weeks. He hadn’t realised how frequent, but it must have been a lot, for Bokuto to mention it. Bokuto, who had seen them in so many states he didn’t even bother voicing his concern anymore, only hold Akaashi’s hands before they could get any worse and kiss his fingers in hopes Akaashi would get the clue.

“Please, Keiji. It’s your turn to tell me what happened,” Bokuto insisted, rightfully so. Akaashi couldn’t expect to get off scott free, not after Bokuto had opened up without even having to ask. He owed it to him, to tell the truth this time.

Bokuto wouldn’t like this. Not a single part of it would be pleasing to hear. Not a single part would be pleasing to say. Once again, time to endure.

“I threw my phone when I realised I couldn’t do anything to find you,” he started from the beginning. “The screen shattered. There’s a dent in the wall. But the sound snapped me out of it. I couldn’t do anything to find you. I couldn’t control the outcome. Getting angry wouldn’t bring you back home.”

When Akaashi was a child, his parents couldn’t take him anywhere. He would scream and cry uncontrollably, until they would tell him exactly where they were going and for how long. Only years later, after a particularly bad day in high school where he had gotten home and ravaged his bedroom past the point of recognition, did his parents take him to a psychologist.

There, he would learn about his anxiety, his control issues, and how they would come out in the form of anger blinding him to the rest of the world, fogging up his thoughts. He had never particularly liked when things didn’t go his way, but Akaashi wasn’t the type to voice his discomfort out loud. He’d make blunt observations his peers would deem too harsh, but wouldn’t act up on it. Keeping it all bottled up was bound to create an explosion.

He didn’t like doing worksheets with the various therapists he met, but some did give out good advice. ‘ _It’s a waste of time to worry over things you have no control over_ ’ had stuck with him the most. Thankfully; back at the apartment, crouched on the floor after realising he was lashing out again, this was what brought him up to his feet. It didn’t cure him of the immeasurable sadness he felt inside, but at least he could breathe better.

Bokuto knew of his anger issues, and had never treated him differently because of it. He adapted. He learned how to calm Akaashi down when the latter was getting too worked up to do so himself. His presence alone, the thought of Bokuto, became enough to calm Akaashi down. Bokuto always went above and beyond for Akaashi, without ever asking for anything in return.

Akaashi could never be angry at Bokuto. Synonyms could come to mind during arguments, but never anger. Akaashi had never been angry at Bokuto, and he would never be. He had sworn it over his life.

“Tsukishima came over often. He didn’t understand why I was feeling like this, but he didn’t question it. He tried to make me think about other things. It didn’t really work, but I appreciate him for it,” he continued, itching to pick at his fingers. Bokuto held on tighter, feeling the restlessness. “I took a break from work, too. I couldn’t do anything right anyway. Couldn’t write anything without it being tainted.

“When I began to think I made you up, a woman offered me a way to find you. I wasn’t going to say no,” he shrugged, a shiver running down his spine as he recalled the event. “Then Kenma found me, called Kuroo. We travelled. It put my mind off things a little. I couldn’t help but feel useless, but I managed. At least I knew I’d find you at the end of the road. That was all I could think of. Whatever thoughts I’d have, whatever doubts, I held on to it and kept walking forward.”

Of course this was quite the brief recap compared to Bokuto’s story, but there wasn’t much to say in Akaashi’s case. He’d become redundant quickly if he had to list every instance of sadness he had felt through the course of his journey. Bokuto was smart enough to get the hint. And if he wanted more details, he could always ask. Preferably not now, though. Now, he wanted to move on, even for one night only, and pretend they were two untainted lovers under the stars, gazing up without a care in the world.

Wishful thinking, but they could use a little more of it.

“When in this story did you become reckless?” Bokuto chuckled, patting the top of Akaashi’s head. His nonchalance betrayed his worry; Akaashi knew him enough to tell. “Running into the battlefield like that. You could have gotten seriously hurt.”

_I didn’t care_ , Akaashi wanted to say. Perhaps a little too brash. “Every day since I knew you were alive somewhere I couldn’t reach, I was afraid to find you badly hurt, or worse,” he opted for instead. “No amount of logical thinking could have kept me from going in, when I knew you were the closest we’d ever been.”

Bokuto didn’t say anything for a second, and Akaashi could tell there was a smile on his lips as he spoke up. “And you call _me_ cheesy.”

Akaashi wanted to protest, but was cut off by a sneaky kiss on the cheek.

“It was cute, thought,” Bokuto twisted the knife in the wound, making him groan. “Earlier in the Great Hall, you were like… Bradley Cooper. And I’m Lady Gaga. ‘There could be a hundred people in a room–”

“Are you being serious, Koutarou?” Akaashi was bewildered. A Lady Gaga joke. Here, of all places, about his new magical skills. Now he’d seen it all.

“Well, yeah, the way you found me in the crowd, I was impressed!” Bokuto declared, getting more enthusiastic, back to his happy-go-lucky self. Wishful thinking might have worked. “You were so cool back there. You’ve always been cool, but seeing you here… in my home… I never thought it would be possible.”

Akaashi could feel the fondness in his last part. Nostalgia of his childhood home mixing with his current life must have been quite the shock, to someone who had never believed he would have ever needed to come back in the first place. To learn having both was now an option… Akaashi was happy for him. He really was.

“Now that I’m here, you’re going to have to show me around sometime. You could even introduce me to your parents,” Akaashi suggested, already eager at the thought. This could be fun, to have the Bokutos tell him about how their son was when he was little, to get all the good anecdotes Bokuto was keeping away from him. Akaashi’s mother had given him too much ammo; it was time for payback.

Bokuto clicked his tongue. “My parents are hiding out right now, but as soon as this is over, I promise I’ll show you everything you want to know,” he agreed.

Akaashi smiled. They would be okay. All they had to do was get through this alive, and thousands of possibilities would open up for both of them. He couldn’t wait to discover them, with Bokuto by his side.

Bokuto’s arm slipped around Akaashi’s waist to bring him closer, the latter resting his head on Bokuto’s shoulder. “I’ll try to find a spell for your eyes, too,” he added, puzzling Akaashi. He had assumed this was an irreversible condition, but if it could be erased, he wouldn’t mind getting his sight back. “I’m sure there’s something. Even a bargain can be broken. One spell comes to mind, but hopefully we’ll find another. I don’t want to think about ever having to use it.”

“I don’t know how any of this works, but I trust you,” Akaashi smiled. Bokuto, always the optimist. “I won’t mind if there’s nothing you can do, but it would be nice to see you. I bet you look good in warrior clothes.”

As great as the thought sounded, Akaashi couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt in his chest. Was this asking for too much? There was no guarantee Bokuto would find a way. Was he already putting pressure on him by saying something like that? And shouldn’t he be content with having found Bokuto in the first place? Why ask for more the second he got what he wanted?

“Whatever it is you’re picturing, I bet I look better than that,” Bokuto tore him away from his thoughts, his thumb rubbing circles over his hip. Serene. Enjoying the moment.

Akaashi wished to be like him. To worry about things only when they became inevitable, rather than scratch away at his mind before, during and after on the basis of possibilities. Of course Bokuto had worries as well; it was why he made the trip back home in the first place. But there was such a… prestance to it. A confidence.

Akaashi could make an infinite list of things they were opposites about. Their taste in movies. The worlds they were from. Milk-before-cereal v.s cereal-before-milk. Emotional capacities. But where they lacked, the other filled, made sure to help, stayed behind, until they would learn, and until together, they would grow.

They promised each other, after all.

“Koutarou. When this is done and we go back home, I don’t want to waste a second more. I want to be married to you,” Akaashi said. The ring on his finger seemed to heat up, a reminder that after all Bokuto had done to erase himself from existence, the promise of their love for each other was left untouched. “We can have a big celebration later. Or none, I don’t mind. But I want you to be my husband as soon as we can.”

_I don’t want anyone to doubt me, us, ever again_ , Akaashi thought. They may have been apart only a short period of time, it felt like walking through hell and back. Hopefully, they’d reach the exit soon enough. One in front of the other, knowing they would always walk the road together.

“You’re a mind reader, Keiji,” Bokuto agreed, kissing the top of Akaashi’s head. “I love you until the end of time, you know.”

_Akaashi Keiji, I want to love you until the end of time, and more._

Akaashi’s brain hadn’t completely processed what had happened when Bokuto popped the big question. They were walking home from a neighbour’s barbecue in the middle of summer, t-shirts sticking to their back, the sunset as their backdrop. They stood under a lampost, Bokuto on one knee, apologising for leaving his ring back home — he hadn’t thought the moment would come tonight, but then, everything felt so right, he would have been mad at himself for not asking any sooner.

Of course the answer was yes. But it threw him off so hard his vocabulary dried up in an instant, mouth agape as Bokuto looked at him expectedly. Only when Bokuto’s smile turned into a frown did Akaashi realise he had forgotten to answer, and kissed him as an apology before laughing at his own stupidity and answering yes. Bokuto tasted like freezies and the sun.

Akaashi was left speechless by Bokuto countless times before. But this once, he knew exactly what to say.

“I love you until the end of time, and more.”

※

The city had smelled of smoke since he had first gotten here, but it worsened enough to stir Akaashi awake. They were still on top of the hill, away from the city, but it felt so intense Akaashi could have believed he were back in the battlefield, had it not been for the grass underneath him.

He nudged at Bokuto’s side, trying to bring him back to consciousness. A quick touch of his watch told him it was barely five in the morning; had the warlocks attacked while they were sleeping? They had talked for hours; Bokuto would have surely noticed something when they were still awake, if he could see the city from below as told. And they had only fallen asleep around three hours ago, if Akaashi’s estimate was correct. The attack had most likely happened just now. And by the smell of it, it was a terrible one.

Bokuto groaned after the nth nudge, but soon enough sat up straight, tense. Whatever he saw down there couldn’t be positive.

“He’s here,” he muttered, getting on his feet. He extended a hand to Akaashi and brought him up as well. Akaashi didn’t like how Bokuto’s fingers were trembling between his own. “He came here once, before I arrived, but never reappeared since. Something’s wrong.”

Bokuto then let go of Akaashi, grabbing Akaashi’s sword left beside him and crouching. “Hop on my back. It’ll be easier for you.”

“Will you be fine?” Akaashi asked, a question extending further than the descent down the hill. This was serious. This was possibly the biggest fight of Bokuto’s life, and Akaashi didn’t know if he’d be able to let him go, if Bokuto weren’t sure of his odds.

He couldn’t lose him again.

“Of course, Keiji,” Bokuto answered, determination in his voice. As if he were looking forward to this. Maybe Akaashi shouldn’t worry, then. He would regardless, but, maybe. “I became the best, remember?”

Akaashi put his arms around Bokuto’s neck as he was propped up by his strong arms, beginning their race to the city. Too late he remembered he had left his blindfold behind, but they couldn’t go back anymore. Without his feet on the ground he had even more trouble telling where they were, but at the speed they were going, it wouldn’t be long before he’d reach the ground safely. He had always known Bokuto was strong, but his physical abilities were far more impressive than Akaashi had believed them to be. If his spellcasting abilities were even better, there should be nothing to worry about.

They seemed to have reached the city, the smell more irritating, Bokuto’s footsteps echoing onto stone, but he didn’t let Akaashi go just yet, taking him through the streets faster this way. Then, Bokuto slowed down and crouched again, Akaashi hopping off. As expected, they seemed to have gotten back to the Great Hall, Akaashi sensing the same granite steps nearby.

“Yukie!” Bokuto called out, a figure running towards them. “What happened?”

“We’re not sure either,” Yukie began, her voice breathless. “Komi was keeping watch when he arrived. Saying he was here to take back what he was owed. Burned down an entire neighbourhood before Komi could alert us, and he was hit in the leg on his way back. It’s bad.”

“What he was owed? But my parents aren’t here,” Bokuto asked, and that was when it hit Akaashi. Clean, straight in the face. Unmistakable.

This was his fault. He shouldn’t have come. Bokuto had wanted him to stay back, it was why he had never said anything in the first place, but Akaashi came regardless, for why? Because he missed him? How could missing him matter, now that it was his fault he was in danger?

“What you owe him isn’t your parents, Koutarou,” Akaashi said, guilt slowly suffocating him. This couldn’t be happening. “You owe him the most important person in your life.”

They had seen him. The warlock’s minions must have seen them both on the battlefield. Of course they would keep an eye on Bokuto, their most dangerous opponent, and of course they would have noticed him caressing this supposed stranger’s face in the middle of a fight. And then, retreat early, knowing this information would please their master much more than these petty demonstrations of power happening every day to no end.

Selfish. Akaashi was a selfish person for running in, without thinking of the consequences, because he refused to understand the gravity of the situation ever since he had followed the bargainer on the blind hope _he_ would see Bokuto again. He, him, him, it had only ever been about him, hadn’t it? Knowing Bokuto was out on a mission that could cost him his life, knowing Bokuto couldn’t afford to be distracted in crucial times like these, and what did Akaashi do? Run blindly towards him, hoping for Bokuto to catch him even though his hands were already full.

The warlock was here because of him. Akaashi’s life was on the line. Which meant Bokuto wouldn’t back down until he either won, or died trying.

“Keiji, breathe. Look at me,” Bokuto whispered, hands cupped around Akaashi’s face — when had he gotten so close? “You’re safe. You need to be strong, okay? This isn’t your fault. This would have happened anyway. Okay? Can you hear me, baby?”

Bokuto was right; he couldn’t panic now. He couldn’t have Bokuto worry about him now, when he was about to confront his biggest enemy. Bokuto had to focus. Don’t panic. Breathe. “I hear you,” Akaashi let out, reaching for Bokuto’s wrists. He gulped. “I hear you.”

“Good,” Bokuto said, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Now go inside. Our friends should be there. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Bokuto let go of him, handed him the sword, and ran off. Just like that, until Akaashi couldn’t feel him in his reach. So quick, like the product of a dream. One second Bokuto was in his grasp, the next he vanished. Hopefully, this was the last time he’d use this trick.

In a haze, he followed Yukie up the stairs, but stopped in his tracks once they reached the door. “I’m staying outside,” he advised her, firm, leaving no room for negotiation. “I’ll hear better this way.”

If he couldn’t be near Bokuto, he’d use his enhancement ability for the better. Akaashi was more used to hearing and picking apart differents sounds in proximity, rather than extend his reach farther, but no better moment than now to try. He had to.

As of now, he could hear the faint flicker of the flames engulfing the neighbourhood Yukie had mentioned, but nothing that could signal Bokuto had met the warlock yet. He wasn’t sure exactly what to be on the lookout for anyway, but it was better than waiting inside the walls for a return. Akaashi wouldn’t wait for a return, this time; whatever sounds he’d look for to indicate this fight, if they stopped, he wasn’t staying put.

Footsteps reached him from behind, Kenma’s figure entering his proximity, followed by Kuroo. Yukie must have told them about his refusal to get in, but Akaashi was silently grateful. He didn’t want to be alone.

Except something felt different about them this time. It was slight, silent, Akaashi shifting his focus momentarily from the vast city to his two friends to figure out exactly what had changed.

The answer was simpler than he thought, found in their heartbeats, where most truths were hidden. Akaashi hadn’t paid much attention to them, parts of the constant background noises he was forced to process, but he could still tell they didn’t used to be like this. Their heartbeats were just a little more synced, it seemed. Beating an inch closer to the other’s rhythm.

Something must have happened during the night. Amends made, or perhaps more? Had this been happening any other time of their journey, he would have pestered Kenma for answers at the first chance he would get, but today, his stress level through the roof, he couldn’t think about anything but Bokuto. Once this was over, he’d jump at the occasion, but not right now, not when a loud crash from afar brought him back to the danger of reality.

“Are you okay, Akaashi?” Kenma asked him, putting a hand over his shoulder.

“No,” he answered, his brain to mouth filter out of order. No _I’ll be fine_ , no _It’s okay_ , no _Maybe later_. Instead, plain truth, no sugarcoating. _No_.

“You should come back inside, Akaashi,” Kuroo spoke up. Today, he wasn’t hiding his knives, on display all over his belt for easy access. Either to prepare for battle, or intimidate him into going back inside — if it were the case, Akaashi wouldn’t budge even with a blade to the throat. “We can’t do anything about this. And if you’re a target, you should–”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Akaashi snarled, venom on his tongue. “We can’t do anything? He went alone. How will we know if he got injured if no one’s out to check? How can we send someone to check up on him if no one knows he’s in danger?” He spat, turning a deaf ear to the part of him that begged not to lash out when he felt Kuroo step back, Kenma tensing up as well. “I can’t do much, but what I can, I will.”

“Akaashi,” Kenma called, softer than his own fiery energy threatening to burst him open. Like he had infused the name with magic, Akaashi’s animosity dissipating at the sound of his voice. “Bokuto will be fine.”

Would he be? Bokuto was fighting on three hours of sleep, after a day where he had fought nonstop. Yet another thing Akaashi was at fault for. And this time, he was all by himself, no Healer on backup. If he received a fatal blow… If, if, if, Akaashi couldn’t stop thinking in ifs, couldn’t stop thinking. Akaashi didn’t want to think.

If only he could leave the thinking to Kenma. Kenma seemed to think Bokuto would be alright. Why couldn’t he agree?

Another loud rumble shook him to the core, followed by another. As long as the tremors would come, he had nothing to worry about. Bokuto was still alive, still fighting. Unless–

No. _Stop it_. Bokuto would be fine. Bokuto had no choice but to be fine.

“Fine,” Akaashi said, more so to convince himself. “Sorry, Kuroo.” Kenma let go of his shoulder as Akaashi sat down on the stairs, reaffirming his stance; he was willing to hear them out, but he wouldn’t move. Nothing but Bokuto could make him move.

And so they sat down beside him, waiting for the blows and buildings crashing down and earthquakes to come from inside the city’s walls. Akaashi didn’t want to be alone, and he wasn’t. Even after all the times he had been inconsiderate, selfish, after all the trouble he had caused them because of his desire to meet Bokuto again, they remained by his side.

Lightning bolt.

_Maybe you’re worth helping_ , Sakusa had said. He still wasn’t sure what it meant. He still wasn’t sure he had any charm at all to make people flock to him the way they did. He frankly still did not know why or how Bokuto had made it his goal to chase him down the first time he had ever seen Akaashi, despite knowing nothing of the college student. Why he deserved to be chased after, to be taken care of, to be a friend of.

Explosion. A yell.

But it shouldn’t have mattered, the why and the how. Because people were here regardless. People trusted him, people wanted to be around him, wanted to have him around. Even if he’d never see it, if he trusted the people around him, maybe he wouldn’t need to wonder why.

Rumble of the earth. Wait. Loud crash. Wait.

Then, eerie silence.

Akaashi’s head perked up, pausing the fiddling of his fingers. The sounds’ intervals had been relatively constant since the first strike, so when nothing happened, it rang as loud in his ears as the commotion did. He waited a little more, to give them the benefit of the doubt while trying to reach for sounds further, but when nothing seemed to happen, the panic he had managed to drown out resurfaced.

Either a win, or a loss.

He got up at once, took a step down the stairs. Kenma grabbed his arm before he could get any further, both his friends getting up as well. The touch wasn’t calming, this time, but rather a burning reminder of the time they were losing with each second they waited.

Akaashi pointed at his ear, hoping the message would come across. _Help me_. “Something’s wrong. Please.”

“Akaashi…” Kenma muttered. _We should wait_ , it said. _He might be fine_ , it said. Then, a sigh. “You won’t get there by yourself.”

Unexpectedly, Kenma walked down the stairs with Akaashi in tow, taking the lead. He picked the pace as they reached the ground, the pair running towards the last located blow they had heard. From afar Akaashi could hear a groan from Kuroo, then his footsteps following them. Once again proving they would indulge in Akaashi for as long as he needed them to.

The only advantage Kenma had on him was sight, but it didn’t mean he knew the city’s layout any better. They would stop at crossroads far more times than Akaashi would have wanted them to before Kuroo put himself at the front, guiding them through.

Where was Bokuto? Akaashi felt like they were running in circles. He was thankful for the leftover stamina he had built up in high school playing volleyball, or else all this running would have left him dizzy. But really, he hadn’t thought they were this far, the explosions crystal clear back at the Great Hall. Maybe he had managed to extend his hearing like he had hoped. Maybe he would have actually been of help, this time.

Kuroo abruptly stopped, Kenma holding Akaashi back before he could go any further. They were hiding in an alleyway again, leading to what was probably the central road of the city, judging by the width he sensed it to be. And on that same road, he could feel two figures, one of which he would always tell apart.

They seemed to be facing off, standing at a safe distance from each other. Akaashi could faintly smell blood, but couldn’t tell who it belonged to, and from where the trio were hiding, they seemed closer to the warlock than to Bokuto. Both of them were breathing heavily, but Akaashi couldn’t miss how Bokuto’s was a little more ragged, pained.

The warlock’s energy felt more dense out of the blue, channelled into his arm which he raised towards Bokuto. The beam left his body to hit a floating shield, Bokuto’s own magic defending him from the warlock’s attack. The spell conjured thousands of needles to pierce through Bokuto’s defense, and it felt much more different than the one Bokuto had used to defend Akaashi the previous day; its energy felt tainted, dirty, although incredibly powerful. Dark magic in action, and Bokuto’s shield cracked under the pressure, although it had been already quite beaten up. Another shot, and he would be defenseless. Why wasn’t he fighting back with spells of his own?

Akaashi walked closer to the edge of the alleyway, hushed voices begging him to step back. But this way, he could feel the scene better, and only then did he notice the inconceivable twist in one of Bokuto’s arm.

He was injured, his dominant arm broken. He couldn’t fight back. And now, the warlock was toying with him, sending sporadic attacks, then waiting in between to see how much longer Bokuto would hold his resolve, how much longer before the pain would send him to his knees.

Then, the ugliest voice Akaashi had ever heard spoke up. “I told you your boy would come, Bokuto.”

Akaashi froze. Bokuto’s heart sped up. Kuroo and Kenma held their breaths, sharing a look with each other.

“Two birds one stone? Or should I let you two decide who goes down?” The warlock cackled, sending shivers down Akaashi’s spine. No, no, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ –

“Stop this and fight me!” Bokuto shouted, his voice strained. He then spat, and Akaashi didn’t need his smell to know what red substance had come out this time again. His injuries were internal as well — he was on the verge of losing more than a fight.

“You think I’m lying?” The warlock continued, irritating as nails on chalkboard. “You don’t think he’ll come out once I start casting a spell you won’t wake back from?”

Bokuto seemed caught off guard, taking a step back. “You’re a coward,” he grunted. “Tricks won’t work on me. Kill me like a warrior, before I do it myself.”

But Bokuto wasn’t in any condition to win. And he was the only one tricking himself. Akaashi was here, was feeling everything go down, was ready to go out of hiding if that man dared try anything else. The warlock was right. Akaashi wanted to kill the warlock himself.

“I can take either one of you, I don’t mind at all,” he chuckled. Even his words were tainted of dark sided intentions; they slithered inside Akaashi’s ears, holding his brain hostage, unable to keep his mind off anything else but this awful sound. “I’ll let your boy decide. If he comes out, I’ll let you breathe.”

Akaashi didn’t need to read minds to know Bokuto would rather die than let him be put in harm’s way, but the opposite rang just as true; Akaashi couldn’t stand staying on the bleachers while the love of his life was being ruthlessly torn limb by limb. He couldn’t let it happen, not when he was so close, not when he knew he could do something to make it go away.

But Akaashi couldn’t run in without thinking, this time. He had to think of a plan, and he didn’t know if the adrenaline was kicking in, but one appeared to mind on a silver platter, complete with each of his friends included as well. Kenma’s healing, Kuroo’s smooth talk as distraction, his sword to deflect possible attacks. A foolish plan, but if it stood a chance to work, it was worth a try.

Akaashi tuned out his friends’ pleas and ignored their arms reaching to hold him back, slipping under their fingers and into the street faster than they realised what he was about to do. There, he stood firm, a hand reaching for the grip of his sword.

“Akaashi!” Bokuto screamed, and the rest happened at once.

The warlock laughed as he charged his entire body with energy and turned to face him, but Bokuto jolted forward, propelling his shield towards Akaashi.

Bokuto put so much strength in the motion, so much will for the energy shield to reach Akaashi before the warlock’s spell did, it made him lose balance for a fraction of second.

The warlock channelled the spell into both his arms, ready to aim, but at the last possible second, he put them behind his back, his target no longer Akaashi, and cast it away.

A strangled cough escaped Bokuto as he fell down, the rancid smell of blood filling Akaashi’s nostrils.

With a final chuckle the warlock jumped, flying out of Akaashi’s reach in mere seconds.

No.

Inhale, exhale.

A heartbeat beside his, its rate rapidly slowing down. Unsyncing from his own.

No.

Hands trembling, mind blanking.

No. No.

“Keiji,” Bokuto muttered as he laid on the ground, struggling to extend an arm his way.

Akaashi ran over like he had never run before, falling to his knees as he reached Bokuto. His throat tightened as he put pressure over the wound in Bokuto’s chest to stop it from bleeding, but his hands were soon soaked.

“Kenma!” He cried out for his friend, feeling him walking up from behind, but stopping midway. “Kenma!”

Akaashi couldn’t breathe. Was breathing too hard. Dizzy from the smell, dizzy from the thought, mind both blank and overheating as Bokuto reached out to cup his cheek. A strong sting reached his eyes, which he confused for tears until a white light cracked them open, Akaashi letting out a small yelp as he tried to blink it away.

Blink. Light. Stinging. He opened his eyes.

Bokuto dropped his arm, smiling ever so slightly. Smile. He could see Bokuto. He could see his grey hair flattened on top of his head like when he just woke up, as beautiful as ever, the light in his golden eyes, the blood dripping down his lips as he coughed and mouthed something Akaashi was too stunned to make out. He could see the stone underneath them, his hands stained of red, and if he looked up, one of the most beautiful sunrises he had ever seen.

The night was over, and at long last his wish was granted. To see Bokuto.

There was a heartbeat, and then none.

Nothing. Not a breath.

Bokuto wasn’t moving.

“Koutarou?” Akaashi whispered, a sob racking his body. This wasn’t real. This was still the dream he believed to be stuck in. Right? No. No. No.

_Don’t leave me again_.

“Kou…” He tried once more, his hands on Bokuto’s chest shaking him gently. Another sob forced its way out, leaving Akaashi breathless, his eyes welling up with tears.

_I’m not going anywhere_.

He could still be saved. Right? They were in a magical city. He had a Healer waiting behind, waiting for his instructions. Bokuto would be fine. Everyone had told him he would be. Why would they lie?

“K– Kenma,” Akaashi looked behind, his eyes landing on his friends for the first time. Next to Kenma stood Kuroo, shocked etched to his every trait, as motionless as the man he held by the hand. “P– Please, help.”

Kenma looked back, a pained expression on his face. “Akaashi, I’m so sorry…”

What was he so sorry for? Couldn’t he do something? Couldn’t any of them do anything? They would just let Bokuto die while he could still be saved? Why were they so far, why hadn’t they come closer when Akaashi needed them to? What was wrong with them? What was wrong with everyone?

Then, he felt it. This feeling he hadn’t touched in years. This feeling he had buried so deep he believed it to have perished inside him. It rang through his bones, familiar and strange at once, possessing his every nerve, every particle of his body, filling him with what he knew best.

One leg at a time he stood up, staring at the body, its eyes still open. Veiled, without light. Taken from life. Taken from him.

Akaashi turned around, raising a finger towards Kenma, glowing with rage. “How dare you,” he began, slowly but surely seeing literal red, “call yourself a Healer,” he took a step forward, the weight of his feet making the ground around them tremble, “if you can’t,” another step, “ _fucking heal!_ ”

Anger. Anger. Bokuto was gone. Bokuto was gone, and he was filled with a rage to extents he had never known, as if in a trance, watching his body march towards Kenma, his friend shrinking under him, hoping to leave destruction in his path, if there were no other way for him to let out how he felt.

Anger. Anger. Anger.

Then, Kenma’s palm reached his forehead, and he fell into darkness.

※

_Pretty_.

When Akaashi regained consciousness, there was a moment in which he remembered nothing. Nothing of his past, not one memory. Not a clue where he was, how he was named, what he had done.

He tried to hold on to this emptiness, but as he realised his eyes were open, staring at a ceiling he shouldn’t have been able to see, his hands twitched, letting go of nothingness. Falling onto a mattress of mistakes, surrounded by all his sins.

What he loved most was no longer here.

He had experienced this same scare before, not two weeks earlier. He had lived in despair, stuck in uncertainty, prisoner of his own mind. He had lived miserably, grasping at straws, hoping one would show him the path to happiness again. He had almost gone crazy on what ifs and hypotheses. But this time, there were no two ways around it. No hope to cling onto.

Bokuto’s heart stopped beating.

Akaashi couldn’t tell when the tears had started flowing. He tried rolling to the side, to curl into himself and wait until he would wake up from yet another bad dream, but his body wouldn’t respond. Exhaustion or refusal, he couldn’t tell. Both, probably. Only truth remained: this wasn’t a dream. This was reality.

Everything had happened so fast. One minute he stepped into the street, the other Bokuto was already gone. Killed. Dead. None of the words pained him less to say. _If you lose balance, it’s over_ , Sakusa had said. So innocuous. So nonchalant, as if it were fiction. How could words of death ever hold no weight? Every word Akaashi knew crushing down his chest. The words of death stomping on his skull. Hopefully, they could finish the job.

Everything had happened because of him. All of it. Bokuto never telling him anything, forcing him to leave without an explanation. Bokuto being put in mortal danger after Akaashi had made his presence known to their enemies. Bokuto losing his fight the second Akaashi stepped in. Bokuto was dead. Akaashi might as well have killed him himself.

There was someone else in the room. The outline was faint, Akaashi’s ability much less effective, but he could tell the person on the chair at the end of the bed was none other than Kenma. Kenma, who he had yelled at, who he had blamed for Bokuto’s fall in a fit of rage like he had never experienced before. Kenma, who had always done everything he could for Akaashi, and never had any reason to stop.

_I’ll be better_ , he told Kenma. A sob escaped his lips. Akaashi never deserved him. Never deserved anyone.

Kenma got up from his chair, only now realising Akaashi was awake, and kneeled by his bedside. Kenma never had any reason to let Bokuto die. Kenma had always helped Akaashi without asking for anything in return. Kenma, who waited for Akaashi to wake up despite the risk he would still be angry at him.

Akaashi turned his head, looking at his friend. He gulped. “You’re blonde.”

Judging by the frown his face, Kenma hadn’t expected such a question. The look on his face. Akaashi hadn’t thought he’d ever say those words again. Kenma softened, offering him a small smile. “Yeah. I got it done after we first talked,” he said, reaching out for Akaashi’s hand. Giving it a comforting squeeze. “Figured I’d try a disguise.”

“I’m sorry,” Akaashi let out, blinking away the ocean filling his eyes. No matter how much he tried, the tears wouldn’t stop, waterfalls even nature could never control. “I’m sorry I yelled. I’m sorry I’m like this. I’m sorry I’m such a shitty person–”

“Stop it,” Kenma stood up, his voice harsher than Akaashi had ever heard it be. He sucked in a breath, blinking slowly. “This was never your fault. This will never be your fault.”

But as much as Akaashi wanted it to be true, he would never agree. “This will always be my fault.”

This seemed to shut Kenma up, but rather than walking away like Akaashi had expected, he sat on the edge of the bed, using his free hand to pat Akaashi’s head. He felt pathetic now, crying even harder than before, body unresponsive to his pleas to stop the tears, stop his throat from making these cries and whimpers he felt disgusted hearing. He shouldn’t be allowed to cry, when he brought this on himself. He shouldn’t be allowed to have people comfort him at all.

Minutes that stretched into hours passed like his, Akaashi curled up against Kenma while his friend held him through the storm. It hurt so much, the worthlessness, the thought of Bokuto’s last smile as the light left his eyes, the promises they had made not hours before, the ring on his finger without a soulmate to bind him to, the painful reminder he would never be able to call Bokuto his husband. The night at the observatory, where he’d told Bokuto _I think I might love you_ , way too early into their relationship, only to receive an _I think I might love you back_ in return, and the knowledge Akaashi could never tell him _I love you_ ever again.

They said until the end of time. Why couldn’t they get that? What had they done so wrongly that they deserved an end like this? Akaashi knew what he’d done, but did it justify the neverending pain he would have to carry through life, alone?

Akaashi calmed down after a while, too exhausted to keep going like this. The tears weren’t neverending after all, his body completely emptied out. Even his breathing went back to its senses, a regular rhythm that didn’t make him feel like he was choking on air anymore. He was just so tired. Drained of all things, good or bad. Back to the nothingness he had craved, but this time, the memories weren’t going anywhere.

“Why do I see,” he croaked out once he had gained back control of himself, putting all his strength into sitting up on the bed. Tired of crying. Of thinking.

Kenma looked away, but Akaashi didn’t miss the glimpse of pity in his eyes. He didn’t want to see. “The Swan Song. A spell that can only be used in the knowledge of imminent death,” he explained. “It can do anything the user wants most in their last moments. Kill off their opponent. Break a bargain.”

Akaashi would have rather gotten his heart ripped out of his chest than learn Bokuto’s final desire was for him to see again, but the damage was already done. Bokuto was always selfless. Bokuto who loved him so much he died trying to protect him.

Everything hurt. Everything.

“It also means you’ll lose your magic, Akaashi,” Kenma continued. As if Akaashi ever cared about being magic. “It means you’ll have to leave soon, before you can’t cross over the the human realm anymore.”

To leave, to stay, did it matter at all? Where he wanted to be was with Bokuto. Neither place would offer him the home he desired. A third option would, though. A third option that grew more and more interesting the longer he realised just exactly how much he’d lost.

He would have loved to see Fukurodani. Where Bokuto grew up, became the man Akaashi would meet and fall for. But all its charm was a double edged sword now, in which everything here would remind him of what he had caused. If anything, the city in ruins was his fault too. For keeping Bokuto away, although he couldn’t have realised.

“Okay,” Akaashi conceded. His empty apartment wouldn’t be any better, but hey, none of the options were. “Is there a bathroom here?” He asked, the dried tears around his eyes in need of a cleanup. Maybe he could rub away how dirty he felt. Rub away the blood on his hands. Someone had taken care of them already, but Akaashi knew they would never be clean enough.

“Yeah, right there,” Kenma pointed to the side of the bed, two feet away, but Akaashi already couldn’t feel any stupider if he tried. The door was wide open. He shouldn’t have missed it. “Do you need help?”

Akaashi sighed. “I’ll be fine.”

He let one of his legs dandle off the bed, then the other, pushing himself off until he stood on his feet. The sudden move created black spots in his vision, his hand grabbing the bedside table before he could lose balance. Akaashi closed his eyes. This would be harder than he thought.

He took a few deep breaths, Kenma’s stare piercing his back, and opened his eyes again. He let go of the table and took one step, waiting to see if the dizziness would come back, but when it didn’t, he continued, making his way to the bathroom just fine.

Until he saw his reflection in the mirror.

The man looking back wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. This other man had seen too much. This other man had given up. This other man knew nothing of joy, bags beneath the eyes, sickly pale skin drenched in sweat. Fading scars leaking out like tears. This other man was him. A man he’d never met.

Akaashi raised a hand, fingers hovering around the scars. Not quite touching, although he knew they wouldn’t hurt if he did. Barely brushing, retracting his thumbs everytime they came in contact. The way Bokuto did. However long ago. Lifetimes, maybe.

How cruel of existence to lend him back his eyes only to witness the death of his lover. How cruel of existence to let him witness with all his senses how life had escaped his lover’s body, aware he would not know how to save him. How cruel of his eyes to etch the memory in his retina, never to be forgotten, closed pupils projecting the event in a loop, again and again, blood on his hands, an arm that fell, the golden light that would never reflect.

To the side of the sink laid a toothbrush. Bright red. Slightly used. Pointy handle. His hand sneaked up on it, holding it in a fist. Handle up, bristles down. This would work. He didn’t need eyes, anyway.

Kenma ran to the bathroom before he could process with the motion, forcing Akaashi’s fist open and knocking the toothbrush out. Panic in his eyes, his eyes watery — had he been crying too? Saddened by watching his pathetic friend losing it piece by piece?

Akaashi crouched down to grab the toothbrush again, but Kenma hugged him from behind, locking Akaashi’s arms to his sides as they fell on the tiled floor. Kenma held onto him tight as he put them both in a more comfortable seated position, but Akaashi wasn’t having it, trying to push Kenma off him.

“Let me do this,” he groaned, putting all his strength into freeing his arms. “Let me do this. Let me do this.” Ignoring the fact he was weak and without energy, but he wouldn’t stop trying, not until he could get his hands on salvation again. “Let me do this. Let me do this. Let me do this.”

“I c– can’t,” Kenma voice broke, and Akaashi stopped fighting back. Kenma was crying. Kenma was shaking, pressed against his back. He made Kenma cry. The list of monstrous things he was responsible for wouldn’t stop growing. “I can’t.”

Akaashi’s limbs went numb, hoping to let Kenma know he could stop. But Kenma didn’t let go, hugging him tighter. It seemed Kenma needed comfort too. It seemed Akaashi wasn’t the only one hurting. It seemed Akaashi had forgotten to care for others again.

Time was a funny thing. Akaashi felt he had just woken up. That he’d been crying in bed for days. That not one second ago he was getting out of bed. That they’d been sitting on this bathroom floor for weeks. That he’d met Kenma a hundred years ago, that they’d gotten here even longer than that.

If Akaashi thought he’d been emptied out before, he hadn’t yet experienced this. Bathroom floor depression. The feeling like death had already taken over your body, yet you lived, you were alive and carried all diseases that would never be cured, eating away at every organ, every part of your body, but claimed by death you would never truly die. A curse to the living, forced to trail another’s bones like tins cans behind a wedding carriage.

“Can I see him?” Akaashi asked, although he could not hear his own words out loud. Had he even spoken? Would the rest of his senses fail him now that he were worthless?

One of Kenma’s arms let go of him, rummaging through his pocket. In his palm he showed Akaashi a small silver chain, Bokuto’s ring dangling from it. Kenma opened the locket and placed the chain around Akaashi’s neck, locking it back, letting it fall between his collarbones.

There was his answer. “I’m sorry, Akaashi.”

※

That same night, Kuroo took him into the nearest human town with Hinata in tow, who would help him with the way back home. They did not seem to trust Akaashi enough to let him take this journey alone. They were right to think so.

The two were obviously shaken up by the events as well, and the atmosphere was tense as Kuroo transported them to Tokyo Station. Kuroo, who had walked alongside Bokuto for years before Akaashi ever even knew of his existence. Hinata, who had looked up to Bokuto since he day they had met, who had travelled across the world to help him out in times of need. The atmosphere was tense. Akaashi pretended not to notice. 

Before leaving, Kuroo engulfed Akaashi into a hug, which he had trouble reciprocating without shaking. Thank God he couldn’t physically cry anymore.

“Take care of Kenma,” Akaashi told him as they parted, offering him what he hoped to look like the semblance of a smile. Regardless, he hoped for Kuroo to get the essence of his words: you two are good for each other.

“Take care of yourself,” Kuroo replied, patting his shoulder. Despite never really getting to know each other, Kuroo had done a lot for him, and Akaashi would always be thankful. There was a glimpse of something in Kuroo’s eyes Akaashi could not recognise, and then, he was gone.

Hinata did not speak for the entire train ride, but he did stay close enough they would touch, close enough to remind Akaashi he was not alone. It felt strange not to hear a peep from him, their friend who would light up any room the second he walked in, always with the craziest stories to tell. Akaashi would have liked him to speak, but he understood Hinata were in pain as well. Akaashi did not have the monopoly over this sadness.

They arrived to the city with the rising of the sun. Akaashi used to love sunrises. Bokuto often liked waking up with the sun. Often liked waking Akaashi up so they could both enjoy them together. No. He couldn’t think about this now. Not in public, not while Hinata was still here. When he’d break, it would be ugly.

It was Hinata’s turn to hug Akaashi, once they reached his apartment building. The block of cement had never seemed to unpleasant, so grey. Hinata asked if he’d be okay alone in there, and Akaashi, like a liar, said yes. Hinata waved one last time, and walked away.

Standing in front of his door, Akaashi’s hand hovered over the handle. He was back home. Back to reality. He’d have to face it now, own up to many more mistakes. Lie and lie again to the people around him. Pretend he wasn’t grieving the death of a fiancé none of them knew the existence of. Great.

Akaashi opened the door, unlocked, and immediately recognised his mistake. His abilities were almost gone, but not quite; on his couch were two people he wished would disappear if only for now, but the click of the door had already alerted them of his presence. Reality started now.

He took a deep breath, entering his apartment. The door had barely closed behind him before Tsukishima ran up to him, a frown that held disappointment, worry, disgust, and relief all at once carved deep into his face.

Neither of them said a word for a minute. The eye contact was unbearable, Tsukishima’s entire week displayed through them, the tough spot Akaashi had put him in by leaving without a word. Akaashi knew all about people he loved vanishing. His own reflection in his friend’s eyes, in more ways than one.

Then came the fear. “What the fuck happened to your eyes?”

The scars remained. Akaashi wasn’t sure if they’d disappear along with the magic. Part of him hoped they stayed. All of him knew he couldn’t answer Tsukishima about this. Couldn’t answer Tsukishima about anything.

“Nothing,” Akaashi replied. His voice strangled, prompting even Yamaguchi to stand up from his seat. He was fucked.

Concern in Tsukishima’s eyes, now. Akaashi couldn’t recognise himself anymore.

Akaashi tried another smile. He tried really hard this time. Regardless, the tears came. The tears did not stop. The tears did not stop as he tried to hide his eyes in his palms. The tears did not stop as he cried harder and harder, as he searched for his breath stuck at the bottom of the ocean, as his fingers twitched and itched to claw his eyes out, Tsukishima catching him before he could fall as he cried and cried and could not stop.

Bokuto was gone. Bokuto was gone. Bokuto was gone, and Akaashi would never recover.

※

“Have you made your choice yet?” Akaashi asked from the kitchen, putting their pasta in water and reducing the heat.

Bokuto hummed from the couch, still scrolling through his neverending romcom list. Akaashi was not a fan of romcom, but Bokuto didn’t enjoy Akaashi’s tastes either, so during their improvised movie nights, they always agreed on watching two, one suited for each. “I think… _50 First Dates_.”

“Again? We watched it last week,” Akaashi pointed out, covering the pot and joining Bokuto in the living room. Better than _The Notebook_ , at least. Bokuto was inconsolable whenever he watched it.

“It’s good, though,” Bokuto whined as Akaashi sat down at the other end of the couch. “It’s sad, but hopeful. You think it’s never going to work out, that the guy should give up, but he makes it work. They love each other. I like it a lot.”

Akaashi scoffed, looking at Bokuto’s side profile as the latter focused on the screen. The slope of his nose, the spikes in his hair, the curves of his lips, the spark of determination never leaving his eyes. “Didn’t take you for an Adam Sandler fan.”

“I like the movie. You’re so judgemental, Akaashi,” Bokuto glanced his way, a smile on his face. “What about you? What did you choose?”

Akaashi smirked. “ _The Shining_.”

Bokuto frowned. “Is it scary?”

“You don’t know _The Shining_? Do you know Stephen King?”

“Should I?”

Akaashi scoffed. Bokuto was something else. “It’s… a little scary. I suggest we watch it first so you don’t go to sleep shaking.”

Bokuto’s eyes widened, pouting. “Why do you always do this, Aghaashi…”

For a minute, Akaashi wondered if he should drop it for today. Bokuto looked already scared, and he had no idea what was coming. But Akaashi also knew his fiancé liked a challenge, and wasn’t one to back down once it began. He would be fine. Bokuto was always fine.

“I’ll hold your hand. I’ll protect you,” Akaashi promised, grabbing Bokuto’s hand and lacing it with his own. Bokuto seemed to relax at the gesture, smiling again, ready to go through this together.

Bokuto was so pretty. So bright. Enchanting, this smile on his face, as if the world could throw anything his way and he would come out on top without fail. Akaashi knew firsthand it wasn’t always the case, with his ups and downs, flaws, everything that made him human, but looking at him, at the man who would become his husband, a man radiating strength and light like Akaashi had never known before, he felt maybe, just maybe, they could take on the world together.

“You okay, Keiji?” Bokuto asked, snapping Akaashi out of his thoughts. He must have been staring. Hard not too, when the love of his life looked like this. Like nothing he had imagined, but exactly what he never knew he needed.

“Yeah,” he answered. “You make me really happy, that’s all.” Then, a deep breath, “I’m lucky to have you.”

Everyday, Akaashi was reminded how much he loved Bokuto. Everyday, he could never thank enough the skies and the stars that had put them both in the presence of each other. Everyday, he fell more and more, and everyday, he hoped he would never forget any of these moments.

Unbeknownst to both, a letter from another world was being slipped under their door.

Bokuto smiled, bringing their joined hands to his lips, kissing the top of Akaashi’s hand. Their eyes never leaving each other, entranced in a dance they hoped would never end.

“I’m happy I found you.”

_“You’re so cheesy, Koutarou.”_

_“And you’re so pretty, Keiji.”_

  
  
  


Akaashi woke up alone.

He had long lost track of the number of days since he last had someone to share a bed with. He used to count, remember the number from the time he opened his eyes to the minute he’d close them again. Until his mind could not keep up any longer, and skipped for him. Forced to let go of this one chain holding him down, amongst many.

The sun was rising. It entered his window the way it always did, force of nature, unmovable. Akaashi wasn’t afraid of its presence anymore. Of the way it peeked behind the mountains to greet the world under it. Akaashi used to go to sleep at four so he could avoid waking up with the sun. But its light shone too bright. It couldn’t be escaped. Akaashi learned to live with it. Another chain, gone. A thousand to go.

The week he returned, he could neither fall asleep nor move. Body good as dead. Reasonably, Tsukishima got scared. Akaashi’s mother couldn’t come all the way over, and he had very few friends, so the responsibility came down to his best man — former. But Tsukishima couldn’t live for two at once, not when one wanted nothing of life.

Akaashi was placed under intensive care for three weeks. Tsukishima told his doctors about his delusions of marriage, but also of his grief. Two truths Akaashi didn’t think Tsukishima would let live side by side, but his friend seemed to understand, after all. Somewhat.

Akaashi wasn’t sure which approach the staff took with him. He listened. He answered. When the meetings were done, he forgot. To survive, he had to live in the now. If he cried too much about the past they’d get worried. If he cried about the future he’d never have with the love of his life they believed never existed, they’d get even more distraught.

Though it was a little difficult to survive this way at night. When he finally managed to fall asleep, it wouldn’t take long before images of what he tried to suppress during the day would take over, violently shaking him awake, confused about this new ceiling he wasn’t supposed to see. Then came the cries. Then came the nurses. A week in he learned to curl up on himself and strangle his tears through the pillows. The nurses stopped coming.

They let him go when they judged he wouldn’t be a danger to himself anymore. Months later Akaashi would still stare at the pencils on his desk hoping they would lodge themselves in his eyes, but at least his fingers had stopped crawling to reach for them. He supposed this was fine, too.

New surprises came each month. After the hospital stay came the blood on his hands. When waking up, chopping vegetables, turning the pages of a book he pretended to read. His heart rate through the roof. Stains everywhere. Blinking them away wasn’t enough; waiting was the only cure. That month he dropped the knife more times than he could count, a scar on his feet to prove it. Tsukishima almost locked him away for good.

At his job Akaashi was demoted, but it didn’t hurt nearly as much as it should have. Better than out of a job at all. He was already on thin ice after missing work for so long, hospital care not enough of an excuse. But what did the trick were the assignments he had to hand in, too tainted in sorrow to be of any use. He couldn’t write happiness anymore. He couldn’t tell what it felt like. Maybe he’d remember how to pretend, one day.

Kenma said he would visit, when they parted. Kenma said to wait for him. It had been three months without a word when Akaashi saw first saw Bokuto again.

When Akaashi saw him on their couch, he screamed. Bokuto was sleeping, tv remote on his chest. He let out a snore, stretching an arm, moving around before snoring again. Akaashi locked himself in the bathroom and called Tsukishima. Yamaguchi answered. Yamaguchi talked his ear off for an hour, and Akaashi calmed down. When he left the bathroom, Bokuto was gone.

The sleeping Bokuto came about once or twice a week for a month before the second instalment began. This new Bokuto appeared when Akaashi cooked, sitting at the counter, his head between his hands like when he’d have a bad day. This Bokuto talked. Whined, mostly. Akaashi didn’t want to answer. But it was nice not to eat alone, for a change.

Soon came a third, fourth, fifth version. They came in batches, never intertwining, and their frequency would only go up. With the third Akaashi finally held a conversation. With the fourth he forgot this wasn’t real, letting himself enjoy the moment. With the fifth he remembered. With the fifth it hurt to breathe again.

With the fifth he wanted to be angry. Angry he was deceived, angry he’d let actual delusions take over his life. He was falling for these, not even realising it until too late. Then came the question: what if Bokuto, the original one, had been just as fake? What if Tsukishima had been right all along? Back to the start, the first time Bokuto vanished, where the truth hung in a balance Akaashi didn’t know the existence of. Stuck in circles, never going forward. He was trying to be better. Then came the fifth, who said _I love you_.

He wanted to be angry. But whatever happened in Fukurodani, whether the city had been any real or not, had drained him of all anger. He should have wanted to rip their curtains apart. To smash all the plates, mugs, to tear pages of his books one by one. And all he did now was sit in silence and hope the imposter would take his leave.

The fifth only came once. No one replaced him.

Would Akaashi ever recover? Probably not. He learned to clean up his act. He learned to live with his mistakes. He learned to unlearn. But he still played with his fingers. Still had the occasional panic attack in the bathroom. Still tensed at the sight of his own face in the mirror, the scars faded, but permanent. Still held on tight to the ring on his chain every night before he fell asleep. Still hadn’t learned how to fall out of love with someone that was taken away.

Because even if everything else were to fade, Akaashi would always love Bokuto. A fundamental truth. Because even if the years went by and he learned to cope with pain and sadness, he would still, always, until the end of time, love Bokuto endlessly.

If it were the one thing to end him, Akaashi would go down with a smile.

Seven months after he had last seen Kenma, Akaashi rolled over and sat down on the bed. He put on his owl slippers and left the comfort of his bedroom, mind gearing up to think about what he would do today. But as he stretched to reach for his cereal box in the cupboard, his train of thought was interrupted. A knock on the door.

Unusual, for seven in the morning. Akaashi was wary, but nothing could really surprise him anyway, so he opened the door regardless. There stood Bokuto, a fond smile on his face, chest slightly puffed. Akaashi sighed.

“You must be new,” Akaashi observed, bored of this already. “You don’t usually knock.”

The sixth version of Bokuto frowned, then chuckled nervously. Perhaps not used to the script yet. “Are you… that’s all you have to say, Keiji?” He looked genuinely troubled. Akaashi’s subconscious remembered Bokuto well.

“Come on in. Do your thing,” Akaashi invited him, ready to get this over with. Those sequences never lasted over an hour. It was disappointing to know his mind hadn’t given up on these experiments, the radio silence a hopeful note, but Akaashi knew firsthand good things didn’t last.

“I… I would have expected, like, a hug at least,” Bokuto whined as Akaashi closed the door behind him.

“Yeah, well, can’t always get what you want, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi deadpanned, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. Bokuto scoffed.

“Bokuto-san? Keiji, did you forget me? Are you pranking me?”

This sixth version had a really weird script. “On the contrary,” he replied, taking his bowl to the couch. Time might pass faster if he watched a morning cartoon or something. Bokuto used to like Avatar. Maybe he could play that one.

Bokuto joined him on the couch, keeping his distance. Touching would only dissolve the illusion. “You’re a hell of a catch, you know that?” Bokuto exclaimed, still confused as Akaashi opened the TV. “Not even an _I missed you_?”

“You already know I do. You live in my brain.”

Should he put on the Northern Water Tribe arc? Akaashi resonated with Sokka. What was worse, a moon girlfriend, or dead boyfriend? Yeah, probably dead boyfriend. Neither were great options, though.

“Aghaashi,” Bokuto whined, shuffling closer on the couch. Akaashi could wipe him away with his elbow if he wanted. But there was something interesting with this one. He shouldn’t feed into his fantasies, but… just this once wouldn’t hurt. He wasn’t in the worst mood, today.

“I can’t believe I come back from the dead and you have nothing to say,” fake Bokuto continued, a pang in Akaashi’s chest. Ouch. Okay. This one wasn’t fun anymore. “Whoa, is that my ring–”

“Okay, I don’t want to deal with you today. Come back later,” Akaashi interrupted as he put down his bowl. “It was nice to see you,” he added, before swinging his arm to the side and hitting Bokuto in the chest.

Hitting. Touching. Touching. They were touching.

His hand didn’t go through. This was solid. This was a person.

This was a person.

“Waaah, Keiji, what was that for–”

“Shut up!” Akaashi stood up, his heart thumping in his ears. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening. There was no way.

He could touch him. He could touch him.

Bokuto’s hand grabbed his wrist, gentle. “Hey, don’t breathe too fast now. One at a time.”

The gesture only had the opposite effect, Akaashi’s pulse accelerating, his breaths cut shorter and shorter.

“You can’t be here,” Akaashi spat in disbelief, eyes wide, every cell in his body vibrating. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Bokuto let go of his wrist, the absence of his touch cementing the idea there was something there in the first place. A real hand. Bokuto’s hand. It couldn’t be.

Bokuto got up, standing next to Akaashi. He was so close, Akaashi could feel his body heat. Akaashi’s hand left his side before he could stop it, landing atop Bokuto’s chest, fingers stretched out over the wound that killed him. There, he found it.

A heartbeat he would recognise anywhere. It was his own, after all.

“I guess I have a lot to tell you, huh?”

His fingers twitched, latching onto Bokuto’s shirt until they formed a fist. Akaashi exhaled. Their eyes met. Golden eyes full of light, liquid honey Akaashi could drown in. For the first time in forever, Akaashi was glad he could see.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to cry so fucking much it burned. But if Akaashi let his feelings overtake him, he knew he wouldn’t function for the rest of the day. He had to let his itching mind rest before descending into that useless state. He had to listen first.

But holy fuck, _Bokuto was here_.

Akaashi let go of the shirt and crashed back onto the couch, followed by Bokuto. Akaashi should have noticed the weight shift, earlier. Hallucinations couldn’t do that. This was real, this was fucking real.

Bokuto turned in his seat, facing Akaashi and resting his elbow on the backrest. “I’ll tell you this the way I was told, because I wasn’t really awake, or alive, when this stuff happened, so.”

“You’re crazy,” Akaashi laughed, biting down his lip, letting one stray tear escape.

“Aw, babe,” Bokuto pouted, brushing his thumb over Akaashi’s cheek. The latter shivered. “You’re the crazy one, believe it or not.”

A rather strange thing to say to someone who had almost gone insane because of him, but Akaashi would let Bokuto explain what he meant before jumping to conclusions. “Kenma told you about a theory, I think. The Double Life.”

_A pure energy transfer, from one person to a recently deceased other, but it would have to be a massive amount. Like, the entire energy someone possesses, thrown into someone else. Which would mean the person giving their energy would die instead, I think. Which I don’t think is physically possible, unless they’d have like a surplus or something, I guess._

“Yeah,” Akaashi recalled, the memory quite far to dig up. “He didn’t mention the name, though. But he did say no one had ever achieved it.”

Had Kenma done the impossible? To bring a man back to life couldn’t be easy. How powerful was Kenma in the first place? And how would it have even worked? Did they steal someone’s energy? Did they kill for it?

Bokuto’s fingers trailed over Akaashi’s jaw. “Well, when I died, you got angry. So angry you became a ticking bomb. Kenma felt your energy levels spike up, and up, and your body couldn’t keep it inside. The extra energy left your body, but there was so much it became a mass double your size. And it kept growing, as long as you were angry.”

Akaashi had seen himself glowing with anger, back then. The earth shaking under him. Red in his vision. He always believed it to be the product of his imagination, of his internal struggle. Not that he was actually glowing, energy escaping his pores. What even.

“Kenma captured the excess before it could crush you. All that energy being sucked out made you pass out, but now the problem was with Kenma. He never held that much energy in his hands before. You made enough to pass as a human’s worth. So he remembered the theory, and tried applying it to me. Giving me your surplus.”

Hadn’t Kenma told him energy couldn’t be created? How could he, Akaashi Keiji, of all people, a human without any prior magical abilities, be the exception to the rule? How could Akaashi be both the cause and cure to Bokuto’s death? What were these odds?

“My anger is in you,” Akaashi realised, frowning. Anger had never let Akaashi rest. He wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But now, he was being told it was Bokuto’s very life essence? What consequences could possibly come out of this? Bokuto going through the same things, while Akaashi now lived without it?

Then, “You were alive while I was still there.”

“Keiji, let me finish,” Bokuto argued, grabbing Akaashi’s hand. His fingers must have started twitching. After seven months, Bokuto was holding his hand again. “The energy left you easily, but my body wasn’t as responsive. The transfer left me with barely enough to make my heart pump. I wasn’t conscious. I almost couldn’t breathe on my own.

“Kenma had to call every Healer he knew to come help me. Everyone taking turns in jolting me, multiples times every day, and my heart only started beating regularly after two months. I was still unconscious for the next two. Then, when I woke up, I couldn’t even walk. I couldn’t talk; I couldn’t ask if you were alive. If you were safe. Everything came back pretty fast after that, but I was a mess.

“It wasn’t your anger that kept me alive. It was love that poured out of you. I’m sure of it. Hatred doesn’t keep a heart beating. The opposite does.”

Bokuto cupped both of Akaashi’s hands in his own, looking down. “I’m sorry we couldn’t tell you. If you had known I was alive, you would have tried to stay. I couldn’t keep you here. You had a life to go back to, your friends, your family. If you had been stuck waiting for me to wake back up, it would have been too late to make you cross over. Kenma hated himself for it. He’s sorry, too.”

Akaashi didn’t know how to answer all this. He couldn’t have made this up even if he tried. For him to be the key, after all this time. Perhaps fate had made them meet exactly to fulfill this unwritten prophecy. Two lovers who saved each other, neither of them aware of it.

“There are months missing to your story,” Akaashi noted, making Bokuto look up.

“Well, yeah. I would have felt bad leaving like that when I caused so much damage,” Bokuto shrugged, the corners of his lips perking up. “I helped out a little. Took my parents back home.” He paused, then, “Defeated an enemy of mine. We won’t be bothered anymore.”

Akaashi smiled. “That’s great to hear.”

Bokuto smiled back. “You’re so pretty, Keiji.”

When Akaashi was still a moody teenager, he made peace with the fact he would live a normal, regular, boring life. Something fitting for himself. To be content with what he would be given should be enough to make life go around, to live, grow, love, then die. Not everyone deserved to be a main character.

By the strangest turn of fate, he ended up with more than bargained for. A love so bright it shone over everything he once believed to be ordinary. A smile so full it made him wonder what happiness truly meant. A person so extraordinary, every minute spent with them redefined what it meant to live, grow, love, and die.

Akaashi tried his best to be worthy of the light he was given. Observing it, cherishing it. Taking in the feeling of how warm his skin felt under its spell. Bokuto was magic, before he even knew it existed. Bokuto was unlike anything he had ever imagined getting, but exactly what he needed. Exactly what he wanted, but never let himself believe he could get. Akaashi wasn’t content. He was happy.

When his light became flicker, plunged into darkness, Akaashi couldn’t believe he had ever been okay with a life like this. To be content wasn’t a life, but still, hope remained. The light wasn’t all gone. The light could be found again, if he desired. When he was still a teenager, Akaashi had made peace with never desiring anything. But after touching this love so pure, this love that belonged to him only, there was no chance he would let it pass him by.

When the remaining flame died after Akaashi got too close, there was nothing he could do. Nowhere to go, in this vast eternity where nothing stayed. Trapped in a dark box, trapped in his own self, the outside world out of reach. No light strong enough, even if he tried summoning it. This black hole within ate them all up. Akaashi could never make light. But oh, how he missed it. Oh, how he would do anything to touch it again, no matter the price to pay.

Until, at the end of the darkest tunnel, there was his light again, coming back to him.

Akaashi lunged forward, trapping Bokuto into a hug. “Don’t ever leave me again, Koutarou.” Tears.

All he ever wanted was Bokuto by his side. Through it all, the worries, the uncertainties, the out-of-this-world quest to find him, all was done to bring Bokuto back home, bring Bokuto back to Akaashi. Driven by a love that could move mountains, all that ever mattered was Bokuto by his side. Even when Akaashi believed it would never be true again, it remained the one thing he would forever hold on to.

Bokuto was here. He was home. He was with Akaashi. Bokuto was home.

Bokuto held him back, the same old comfort engulfing Akaashi. Tears, tears, tears, of joy this time, and yet still bitter, but oh so freeing. Anchors letting go. The weight of all his crimes lifting off his shoulders. A new beginning. His light in his golden glory, holding out his hands to catch Akaashi, to never let him go. They were together, now.

Until the end of time.

Bokuto patted Akaashi’s hair, letting his fingers roam through, and in this embrace, they were home.

“I’m here, Keiji.”

**Author's Note:**

> [akaashi's eyes under the stars](https://static.boredpanda.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/rescued-blind-owl-zeus-fb5.jpg) | [inarizaki fanart i found while writing](https://twitter.com/m2_cocof/status/1243030648157167617)
> 
> thank you for reading!! i would love to hear comments on the parts you liked most!! :D i personally quite enjoyed making sakusa a sexy swordsman and i hope you liked it too hehehe
> 
> this story is adapted from the myth of orpheus and eurycleia, which ends with either orpheus' death (akaashi), or depending on the version, their following reunion in the afterlife. now this raises some questions.
> 
> here, akaashi and bokuto reunite. in life or in death? both are applicable... which one is truth?  
> has bokuto really been revived against all odds, as seen by akaashi's pov?  
> ... but is his pov tainted? has akaashi mind created yet another version of bokuto, making up his own truth with the sparse things he knew about this other world?  
> is the entity actually bokuto's ghost appearing in front of akaashi, signifying the latter has already died, or is bokuto's ghost leading akaashi to make the one choice he wont ever be able to undo?  
> are akaashi and bokuto separate entities, or could they even be considered one and the same, as suggested by some analyses of the myth? could tsukki have been right, and akaashi chased after his own tail all this time?  
> or everythings fine and im just playing... who knows.
> 
> lots of truth bombs i just dropped here... id like to hear your thoughts on how you interpret the ending if youre interested! i invite you to read up on the myth if youd like too, even reread this story with it in mind if youre looking to see it in a new light. lets chat is what im saying :)
> 
> thank you again!! i appreciate you taking the time to read this xxx
> 
> my twt [@yyxykeiji](https://twitter.com/yyxykeiji)


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